


Shiny

by astralminnie



Category: Firefly, Serenity (2005), 방탄소년단 | Bangtan Boys | BTS
Genre: Action & Romance, Alternate Universe - Firefly Setting, Alternate Universe - Robots & Androids, Alternate Universe - Space, Android Jeon Jungkook, Androids, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Bondage, Browncoats (Firefly), Canon Rewrite, Canon-Typical Violence, Captain Min Yoongi, Companion Kim Taehyung, Companions (Firefly), Crimes & Criminals, Doctor Jung Hoseok, Dystopia, Firefly Quotes, Firefly References, First Mate Kim Namjoon, First Time, Gallows Humor, Government Conspiracy, Government Experimentation, Gun Violence, Guns, Gunshot Wounds, Humor, I promise!, Law Enforcement, Learning to be Human, M/M, Medical Kink, Medical Procedures, Medical Trauma, Mercenaries, Mind Control, Mind Manipulation, Non-Human Genitalia, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Outer Space, Panic Attacks, Phobias, Pilot Kim Seokjin, Polyamory, Polyamory Negotiations, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Serenity (2005), Prostitution, Religious Discussion, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Robot Anatomy, Robot Feels, Robot Kink, Robot Sex, Robot/Human Relationships, Romance, Rope Bondage, Sexy Wound Tending, Smuggling, Space Battles, Space Cowboys - Freeform, Space Flight, The Unification War (Firefly), Threats of Violence, War, Zero-gravity sex, all characters are based on characters from Firefly, android sex, but you don't have to watch Firefly to understand this AU, it's my canon and I can do what I want to it, mechanic park jimin
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-21
Updated: 2019-10-30
Packaged: 2020-12-27 14:56:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 22,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21120647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astralminnie/pseuds/astralminnie
Summary: { A Bangtan “Firefly” AU }Stolen away from the lab in which he was created, Jungkook wakes to find himself an unwelcome passenger on a ship several planets from home—an android with no sense of what it means to be human, surrounded by a crew of misfits who are more human than most.





	1. Episode 1: Pilot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“That was a close one!”_
> 
> _“Any one you walk away from, right? As long as we got the goods, I’d call this a win!” _
> 
> _“Right…we win.”___

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on the TV show _Firefly_ & the movie _Serenity_ by Joss Whedon — with several giant liberties taken by yours truly. ♡ As it says on the tin, a working knowledge of canon is **NOT** required to understand this AU. I hope you enjoy!

_After the Earth was used up, we left. Found a new solar system and hundreds of new Earths were terraformed and colonized. We remember Earth-That-Was fondly, but we had'ta move on._

_600 years floatin' through time and space changed the people. Back on Earth, we used to draw lines in the sand, claim different parts of it our own—but for a long time, we lived on ships, and there was no sand anymore. We became one people—much as we could be, at least—learned each other's languages, ate at each other's tables. But once we made land planet-side for the first time, those same lines in the sand were drawn again. The people spread out across the galaxy, and the people were lost. _

_Some chose big suns to orbit, others smaller ones. The central planets formed the Alliance, a government, and decided all the planets had to join under their rule. There was...some disagreement on that point. The war that followed was brutal. Destroyed whole planets. Tore families apart. The people suffered—all of them. _

_After the War, many of the Independents who had fought and lost drifted to the edges of the system, far from Alliance control. Out on the rim, people struggle to get by with the most basic technologies; a ship would bring you work, a gun would help you keep it._

_A captain's goal was simple: find a crew, find a job...keep flying._

· ✹ •.· + ˚ ✧ . · +. ·. ✦ ˚ · . ✹ . ✧

“We’re taking on _ passengers!” _ Jimin sing-songs as he skips down the hall between the kitchen and the bridge, ducking under the low hanging door frame only to emerge into the common area with a flourish. “Passengers, can you believe it? It’s been _ ages!” _

Behind the kitchen counter, he’s met with an affectionate eye-roll and a smile. “I know. But it’s only for _one_ passage, so don’t get too excited.”

He scrunches his nose up at the man opposite him, tall and handsome despite the bright colors of the truly terrible floral shirt the pilot has chosen for himself today.

“Eat up,” he’s told, Seokjin pointing to one of the plates of food that has been left out for him on the tabletop. “We’re about to be planetside and I don’t want to hear you whining the whole way to the market,_ ihaehani?” Understand?_

“Yeah, yeah, I get it,” he shoots back, but the smile never leaves his face. We’re going to the _ marketplace! _Jimin thinks, and nothing is going to dissuade his excitement.

He snatches up the plate that was offered to him, for once barely even displeased with the blandness and texture of the rehydrated protein they’ve resorted to over so many long months in the black.

He scarfs the meal down in little more than a few spoonfuls, ignoring the way it makes Seokjin squawk in concern from across the room, and tosses his plate into the tiny sink for washing later.

“Jiminie—” Seokjin calls after him as he turns on his heels, bare feet sliding across the steel floor, and dashes back towards his bunk.

“No time!” He calls over his shoulder, “There’s so much to _ do!” _

“Hey, shouldn’t you be in the engine room?!” He hears over his shoulder.

“Shouldn’t you be _ flying the ship?” _He shoots back, and giggles at the way it makes the older man bluster indignantly in the distance.

He skids to a halt in front of a ladder on one side of the hallway, colorfully labelled _ ‘Jimin’s bunk’ _ in artfully painted letters, kicks at the latch until the ladder swings back into the hull to reveal the entrance to his room down below, and slides down the rails until he lands gently on the carpet placed at the bottom.

There’s _ so _ much to do, he thinks—but first, a change of clothes. Something pretty for their guests.

· ✹ •.· + ˚ ✧ . · +. ·. ✦ ˚ · . ✹ . ✧

The marketplace is as unpleasant as ever, but Jimin is still all smiles as he happily trots after the rest of the crew in the tiny aisle left between stalls. The air is dusty, muggy, and he’s glad for the parasol he grabbed at the last minute to sling over his shoulder, the orange paper keeping the heat from the nearest star from beating down against his head. The kimono he slid into before leaving the ship blocks the worst rays from his shoulders, though it certainly doesn’t make the heat any more bearable.

In front of him, Seokjin is easy enough to spot in the crowd, his broad, floral-covered shoulders standing inches above even the tallest of locals—and twice as colorful to boot. Jimin meanders after him without worrying too much about keeping up, knowing that the older man would never leave him behind, choosing instead to indulge in this briefest of opportunities to see a bit of the world while he’s on it.

One stall after another, he spends his small stash of pocket cash on little trinkets, jewelry and the like—little things that he knows are worthless, for all that they sparkle, but they’re _ nice. _ And sometimes it’s just nice to have nice things.

Truthfully, he keeps an eye out for any merchants selling mechanic bits, repurposed engine parts and whatnot, but he knows that the captain wouldn’t splurge on a new compression coil unless the old one had completely rusted through (and Jimin has tried to tell him many times that it’s getting close).

But it’s the _ people _ that he enjoys the most, the churning tide of strangers from all across the allied planets in a wonderful rush of colors and smells. And with people come new foods to sample—a thought that has his stomach rumbling.

He stops at a particularly appealing looking tent, one that seems to positively _ burst _ with colors, and examines a basket of spindly fruit in shades of yellow and purple. They look delicious enough without him having to know what they are, he figures. When the merchant waddles her way over to him and greets him in creaking Cantonese, he rubs at the back of his neck and stumbles his way through making his purchase.

_“Sān, qǐng,”_ he says, polite as he can manage. _ Three please. _

She gives him a wide grin that stretches at all of the many wrinkles on her face, exposing the few teeth she has left, and places the fruit in a worn cloth bag to hand over to him. _“Jīntiān piào-liang de nán-hái zài zhèlǐ zuò shén-me?” Pretty boy, what doing this place today? _

Her accent is thick and he isn’t able to catch _ every _ word, but he recognizes, at least, that she is calling him handsome, and asking about his reason for being at the docks.

“Xiǎng-shòu jīntiān, zǔmǔ,” he answers. _ Just enjoying the day, grandmother. _

She seems to take that as answer enough and nods her head, before shaking a finger at him as though he has done something wrong and suddenly spinning on her heels.

He freezes, money in hand, curious as to what he has done to upset her—had he said something wrong? His Cantonese certainly _ was _ a little rusty…

But the woman returns a matter of seconds later with that same toothless grin, this time with something else clutched in her hands. She reaches out towards him, holding up what appears to be an old cigar box between her wrinkled hands, and shakes it in his direction until he fumbles to take it from her. It’s not particularly heavy, but before he can turn his head down to take a closer look, the woman gives him a knowing look and silently holds out her other hand.

Jimin stares blankly at her for a few seconds before remembering that he still needs to pay. He laughs at himself and shakes his head before dropping the bank notes in the woman’s palm, and her grin widens even further.

_“Xièxiè,”_ she tells him with a nod. _ Thank you. _

_“Yě gěi nǐ,”_ he returns, and offers her a small bow. _ And to you. _

He tucks the bag of fruit under one arm, parasol tucked into the crook of his chin as he spins around and heads back into the crowd, eyes on the box in his hands instead of the road in front of him. It takes a few tries to pry the wooden lid open, but when he does, he lets out a gasp so loud that it startles several of the strangers walking at his side.

_Strawberries. _

Real ones too, from the looks of it. Red as a dying star, and perfectly ripe, sitting in a tiny bed of straw to keep them from bruising. He can’t remember the last time he was able to get his hands on such a delicacy.

Jimin tosses a look back over his shoulder at the fruit stand, but the grandmother who had shown him such kindness is nowhere to be seen.

“—out of the way!”

His head whips around just in time to catch sight of the _ huge _cargo transport being driven down the tiny aisle towards him, narrowly missing him by inches as he swings his body out of the way on light feet. The box of strawberries is cradled instinctively to his chest to protect them as the crowd beside him also hurries to scuttle from the path, bodies crowding in on either side of him.

“What a _ húndàn,” _ a familiar voice says at his ear. _ What a bastard. _

Jimin glances over his shoulder to find Seokjin standing at his side, having appeared out of nowhere to duck beneath the brim of Jimin’s parasol. “Who?”

Seokjin points with one crooked finger to the back of the transport vehicle, singling out a lone figure that Jimin hadn’t taken notice of before. The man is dressed in black from head to toe, well-fitted trousers disappearing under the hem of his bespoke hanbok—and when the stranger steps closer, following closely behind the vehicle, Jimin catches sight of the sleek leather boots that cover his feet.

Clearly not from ‘round _ these _ parts, Jimin thinks.

The man’s eyes are hidden behind a pair of sunglasses, dark tinted, that give him something of a mysterious air about himself—but Jimin can tell that his gaze is locked onto the large, metal container that the transport is lugging through the marketplace.

He says nothing as he passes by, not even giving so much as a glance to the crowd of people that have had to part to allow him and his cargo to pass through, and Seokjin seems none-too-pleased with this development.

“C’mon, we have to hoof it. We’ve taken too long already.”

“What’s goin’ on?”

“The captain and Joonie are back, it’s time to load up ‘n head out.”

Despite the rush of adrenaline that still has his heart beating a little too fast in his chest, Jimin feels his glee come crashing back to him._ Time to leave _ means time to recruit their new guests—and Jimin has always been the _ best _ at that.

“You’re right, _ umjig-ija _ ,” he agrees. _ Let’s move. _ “No time to waste!”

Seokjin chuckles at his enthusiasm, steering him back onto the path through the crowd as it clears with a warm hand on Jimin’s shoulder. “Did you pick up anythin’ fun?”

As they make their way back through the merchant stands towards the docks, Jimin delights in showing Seokjin his haul for the day—the pretty bangles that now hang from his wrists, the scarf he has decided he will wrap around his hair, the strange new fruit he decided to try.

But the strawberries are quickly tucked into his bag for safekeeping—his little secret, he decides—and he makes no mention of them as they chatter back and forth on their journey back to the ship, the strange disturbance in the marketplace all but forgotten behind them.

· ✹ •.· + ˚ ✧ . · +. ·. ✦ ˚ · . ✹ . ✧

_ “—ride in style, ladies and gentleman, come aboard!”_

_ “—best ‘ccommodations this side of the ‘verse, won’t find anything better—!”_

All around him, voices clamor for the attention of potential passengers as they mill about in front of the open cargo bays of ship after ship, lined up along the docks like so many starving dogs waiting for a bone.

Jimin pays them no mind, humming softly to himself as he sets up a folding chair at the end of _ their _ ship’s loading ramp. With his parasol perched in one hand and a refreshing drink in the other—something other than engine-distilled wine, for once—he is content to simply sit, and wait.

It takes almost no time at all for a few curious people to come poking their noses around, and he knows that it has far more to do with his bare legs peeking out from beneath his long kimono—crossed at the thighs to show off the tanned skin from the bottoms of his shorts to the tips of his toes—than it does with their interest in the ship.

All the same, he smiles warmly at each newcomer, answers their questions about the ship, their destination, and so on—all without getting up from his seat. It isn’t worth it, he reasons, when he knows that more than half of them will keep moving down the docks in search of a fancier ship, or a more luxurious port to land in.

So it takes him completely by surprise when something finally _ does _ drag him to his feet—or should he say, _ someone. _

Looking up over the rim of his glass, the alcohol depressingly low already, he catches sight of a familiar face through the crowd. Or, not _ familiar, _exactly, but certainly not one that he could forget.

The stranger cuts a striking figure against the dull browns and tans that are customary of the region, his all-black outfit just as impressive to Jimin as it had been the first time he laid eyes on the man. But just as before, the mysterious stranger stares out into the world from behind his dark sunglasses, seemingly a million miles away.

He draws closer to Jimin slowly, stopping to appraise each ship along the way before giving the smallest shake of his head and stepping on to the next one, the same imposing cargo transport from before creeping along behind him. Jimin assesses the stranger silently for a few minutes more, sipping placidly on the last dregs of his fruity drink, before he finally resolves to interrupt the man’s slow procession down the dock.

“You’re gonna come with us,” he calls out to the man when he gets close enough to hear Jimin clearly.

The man startles, dark hair swinging in his eyes as his head whips down towards Jimin in surprise.

“I beg your pardon?” The man asks, his voice soft, his tone prim and proper.

Jimin grins, crossing one leg over the other and letting his bare foot bob up and down in the sunshine. “I said, you’re gonna come with _ us.” _

“...and what makes you think that?” The man asks, eyes narrowing—not quite suspiciously, but challenging enough all the same.

Jimin tilts his head, swirling his nearly empty glass in one hand while pointing at the center of the man’s chest with the other. “You like ships. I’ve been watching you—you’re not looking at the destinations, or the price, which...clearly doesn’t matter to you.”

He pauses, giving a meaningful look down at the man’s bespoke hanbok again before bringing his gaze back up to meet the stranger’s eyes again. From behind the dark glasses, he can see the man’s eyes widen just a touch, and Jimin knows that he’s got ‘im.

“You don’t care where you’re going, you care about how you get there, am I right?”

The man shifts uncomfortably from one foot to the other, the gravel crunching under his shiny boots, before he concedes with a small shrug of his shoulders.

“You’re gonna come with us,” Jimin repeats for the third time as he sets his glass down and slides to his feet, emerging from beneath his parasol into the sunlight with a dazzling smile. “Because you like ships, and you care about the crew you’re sailing with—and mines the nicest!” He nods his head back towards the ship behind him for emphasis.

The truth is, the ship looks worse for wear, and he knows it—but neither he nor this strange man seem to equate a _ pretty _ ship with a _ nice _ one, and that’s what matters. The man tilts his head up, giving the ship an appraising look same as all the others, and when his eyes come back down to meet Jimin’s again, he gives the small mechanic a tiny hint of a smile.

“You’re right,” the man says with a nod of his head.

Jimin bounces excitedly on the balls of his feet, then juts out one hand in front of himself in greeting. “My name is Park Jimin,” he says, “and that there is _ Serenity.” _

He points up at the large ship overhead, cockpit looming over them as though it is watching their exchange, cargo bay door open behind Jimin like a mouth. Jimin knows that it's an impressive sight, despite being—admittedly—smaller than the ships that sit on either side. But _Serenity_ is _special_, he tells himself. A real beauty. Shaped like the tiny lightning bugs its Firefly-class designation is named after, _Serenity_ is more than a ship—she's a home to anyone what's lookin' for one. Perhaps this man is looking for the same, because his eyes skim over her hull with something like recognition behind them, or perhaps simply appreciation. Either way, Jimin knows he's got this strange man hooked. 

_“Serenity…” _ The man murmurs, the word heavy with hidden meaning, as he brings his hand out to shake with Jimin, wrapping leather-clad fingers around Jimin’s rough palm. The handshake is firm, warm, and sincere. “Of course.”

“And you are…?” Jimin prompts when the man doesn’t immediately introduce himself in kind.

There is a brief moment of hesitation before the man pulls his hand away and answers in a small voice, “You can call me Hoseok.”

“Just Hoseok?” Jimin asks, unable to keep himself from being nosy.

“Just Hoseok.”

“Well then, Mr. Just Hoseok, it’s a pleasure t’ meet you.” Jimin grins as broadly as he can up at the man, toes his shoes back on, straightens his shorts, tugs his kimono up over his shoulder where it belongs, and spins on his heel to face the ship. “Follow me!”

Hoseok murmurs something to the driver of the transport behind him, but Jimin doesn’t look back. He simply packs up his chair, grabs his parasol, and skips up the ramp into the waiting cargo bay, and trusts that his new friend will follow after.

· ✹ •.· + ˚ ✧ . · +. ·. ✦ ˚ · . ✹ . ✧

“Hey there, cap’n!” Jimin chirps as soon as he skids into the common room, bare feet once again sliding across the metal floor. A thin set of arms catches him and keeps him from falling face-first into the table, and he tosses his head back to grin up at the man in question. Yoongi stares back down at him with one eyebrow raised, lips pressed into a thin line.

“What have I told you about running like that in here?” He grumbles, and sets Jimin back on his feet properly.

Jimin gives the captain an apologetic shrug, but it doesn’t stop the way he continues to rock excitedly from side to side. “Sorry, sir, can’t help m’self, you know that.”

“Add that to the long list of things Park Jimin can’t help but do,” another voice chimes in from the hallway, “along with being cheerful.”

He turns around just in time to be swept up into a hug by a man nearly a foot taller than him, strong arms lifting him straight off the floor.

“Namjoon!” He cries happily, wrapping his arms and legs around the larger man like a tree trunk. “You’re back! Seokjinnie said you were back, but I didn’t believe it, but now you’re _ here, _ you’re back, oh—!”

_“Wei, wei!”_ _ Hey! _“Give the man a moment to breathe, why don’tcha?” Yoongi grumbles again, and Jimin feels hands at his sides try to pry him off. Namjoon just chuckles deep in his chest while Jimin nuzzles his face into the man’s soft leather jacket.

“Oh, _geugeos-eun gwaenchanhseubnida,”_ Namjoon says appeasingly. _ It’s fine. _“He’s happy to see me. I’ll take it as a compliment. Not often someone has the chance to miss you when you’re locked together in a flying hunk of metal for months at a time, y’know?”

When Jimin slides back to the floor, Namjoon is grinning broadly over his shoulder, presumably at Yoongi, his cute little dimples on full display. He looks good, Jimin thinks—tan and broad, like his shore leave has been spent entirely lounging on a beach planetside somewhere. Namjoon’s dark hair has grown longer, hanging down towards his eyes now. It suits him, Jimin decides. And _ oh boy, _ is Seokjin going to have a hard time once he sees the first mate like _ this. _ Whew.

Over his shoulder, he hears Yoongi give an indignant cry. “Yah, watch what you say about _ my _ship, Kim, or I’ll be forced t’ throw you in the brig!”

“We’re smugglers, Yoongi, dear, not pirates,” Seokjin says from the galley, and Jimin stifles a snicker into his hands. When he turns back to Yoongi again, the captain has his arms crossed, clearly stewing over the comment.

“Don’t let ‘em get to you this early on, cap’n,” Jimin chides him gently, “or this’ll be one helluva passage. You’ve both been back for less than five minutes and you’ve already got smoke comin’ outta your ears.” He reaches up to tweak one of Yoongi’s ears as if to prove his point, and his hand is swatted away immediately, though Yoongi doesn’t look too unhappy about it.

The captain’s face softens as he looks up at Jimin—there’s barely an inch difference between them, but it’s _ there _ when they’re both barefoot, even if Yoongi won’t ever admit it—and he drops his hand down to clap Jimin’s shoulder instead.

“Been takin’ good care of my girl?” He asks, and Jimin knows that the captain is referring to _Serenity_ itself.

“‘Course, I wouldn’t let anything happen to her.” He reaches up and pats Yoongi’s hand reassuringly. “Everything’s shiny, cap’n, not to fret.”

Yoongi gives him a nod, then lets his eyes wander over Jimin’s face and up to his hair, which the mechanic has chosen to leave loose for the moment.

“You changed your hair,” he comments flatly, narrowing his eyes at the bright tint that clings to the strands. “It’s...pink.”

“It’s _ orange,” _Jimin shoots back with a roll of his eyes, reaching up to ruffle the strands defiantly. “It matches my umbrella.”

“Hm.” The captain purses his lips thoughtfully, but it only takes a few moments of Jimin pouting at him for the expression to melt back into a smile. “You look good,_ dìdì.”_ _ Little brother. _Jimin preens at the word.

“Not to be the one to break up all these lovely reunions,” Seokjin calls at them from across the table, peeking his head out to address them when they turn to look, “but dinner is almost ready, we have guests joining us tonight, and _ my husband _ has _ failed _ to give me a proper hello.”

“Well far be it from me to let _ my husband _suffer like this,” Namjoon replies, dumping his bags unceremoniously to the floor beside the table as he makes his way across the kitchen to the galley in order to give Seokjin a proper greeting.

The pilot, meanwhile, steps out from behind the bar with an eyebrow raised, hands on his hips to frame the ‘kiss the cook’ apron he is currently wearing over his jumpsuit, the bright white clashing with his brightly patterned undershirt. “Why _ hello, sailor,” _ he croons at Namjoon, looming the first mate up and down with obvious appreciation in his eyes.

“They’re insufferable,” Yoongi groans at Jimin’s side, making a show of covering his eyes as Namjoon bends down and wraps his arms around Seokjin’s waist, picking him up and spinning him in a circle as the pilot gives him a loud, smacking kiss in return.

“I think it’s sweet,” Jimin says, resting his chin in his hands as he leans against the nearest chair and watches the scene unfold before him.

“It’s disgusting,” Yoongi says, unrelenting, “and it’s going to turn off every one of our passengers within five minutes, I guarantee it.”

“You’re looking to _ turn them on, _ are you?” Jimin asks him slyly.

Yoongi snorts. “Definitely not. But I would like to actually _ meet _ them. Where are you hiding these law-abiding, paying guests of ours?”

“In the loading bay, where else?”

“Let’s go get ‘em while these two finish moonin’ over each other, yeah?” He gestures towards the door, and Jimin skips ahead of him into the hall.

“I think you’re gonna like ‘em, cap’n,” Jimin says as he leads the way, taking the steps two at a time down from the bunk hall towards the belly of the ship, Yoongi scrambling to keep up with him. “Picked out some good’n’s this time!”

“That’s what you said _ last time, _ but we ended up with that smelly old crone who snuck her cat into the dorm in her _ luggage.” _

“I thought she was _ sweet,” _ Jimin pouts, thinking back to the pretty calico cat that had come with the woman in question. “I miss little Mochi…”

“Gorram cat had me sneezing all over th’ place,” Yoongi grumbles under his breath as they reach the bottom of the stairs and step out into the large loading bay, suddenly filled with a small crowd of people milling about where there would usually only be cargo. “No more stowaways, Jimin. Promise me.”

Jimin waives a hand placatingly at the grumpy older man, rolling his eyes and shooting back before they get close enough that anyone can hear them, _“Yakusoku shimasu.” I promise. _ “Don’t worry so much.”

Yoongi doesn’t look particularly appeased, but he follows after his mechanic with no further complaint, letting Jimin step to the front to do what he does best—public relations.

“Hello everyone!” Jimin waves to the now-familiar faces as they turn away from their various luggage to look up at him. “We hope you’re settlin’ in well.”

There’s a quiet murmur of agreement from the crowd, and the mechanic grins as he throws his arms wide to either side of his body and announces, “Welcome to _ Serenity. _ Our home.” He turns to Yoongi, standing silently at his side, and introduces him as well. “This is our captain, Min Yoongi.”

“Welcome,” Yoongi says shortly. “We’re happy to have you aboard.” Jimin doesn’t think the captain sounds particularly happy about it at all, but it’s a hazard of the business—sometimes even smugglers have to make some honorable coin.

“Some ground rules while we’re in the air,” he begins, and all eyes are on him now. “Aside from the kitchen, common areas and the like, we ask that you remain in the passenger bunks unless told otherwise.” There are a few grumbles from the group, which Yoongi promptly ignores.

“We recognize that some of you have cargo here that can’t be taken up t’ your rooms, but we ask that you be accompanied by a member of the crew if you are to be down here.” He pauses, but there are no arguments—and Jimin isn’t surprised at that. Yoongi can be _ very _ commanding when he wants to be, and all without ever raising his voice.

“Jimin will show you to your rooms shortly,” Yoongi continues, and the mechanic perks up at the sound of his own name, grinning at their passengers again, “but first, we’ll head upstairs to eat.”

With that, Yoongi turns away without another word and starts to make his way back up the stairs without them. Jimin holds back a snort.

“Alllllright everyone, follow me!” He says to the crowd, encouraging them to leave their belongings behind and fall into step behind him as he moves up the stairs after the captain. “It’s dinner time! We have the best cook in the ‘verse here on _ Serenity, _just you wait!”

· ✹ •.· + ˚ ✧ . · +. ·. ✦ ˚ · . ✹ . ✧

Dinner is hardly an uneventful affair, but at least it _ starts _ that way—full of gentle conversation and the soft scrape of silverware against plates as both crew and passengers dig in to the meal that Seokjin has provided for them. Jimin knows it won’t last, the fresh produce and meat, especially with no proper way to store it, but now he knows why the pilot had scurried off so quickly to the market as soon as they had landed planetside. As always, Seokjin’s cooking is a rare treat.

The pilot sits sits at the far end of the table with Namjoon, totally wrapped up in the other’s presence, Seokjin’s sandaled feet propped up on his husband’s lap while Namjoon cradles his ankles with one hand and feeds himself with the other. When Jimin glances over at them, they are laughing with one of their new passengers—a tall man named Jaehyun, with sharp eyes and a kind smile who appears to be wearing some sort of high-collared religious garb that Jimin can’t place.

“—no way, _ no way _you did that!” He hears Seokjin chatter excitedly in the distance.

“When will we be taking off?” Someone asks from across the table, and Yoongi is quick to reply, drawing Jimin’s attention.

“As soon as we can, we’re just waiting on one last passenger.”

“Another passenger?” Jimin perks up in interest, fork pausing halfway to his mouth. “Who?”

“The _ ambassador _ is making an appearance,” Yoongi says with a sniff, looking none-too-pleased by the news.

“Oh!” The mechanic bounces in his seat, dropping his fork to cup his cheeks in his excitement. “Really? Really-really, cap’n? You promise?”

“Why would I joke ‘bout that?” Yoongi grumbles.

From across the table, the first mate and their pilot are drawn from their conversation at Jimin’s antics, looking curiously down the table at the rest of the crew. “Wha’s goin’ ‘n?” Seokjin asks through a mouthful.

“Nothin’ important,” Yoongi says with a wave of his hand.

“The ambassador is comin’!” Jimin says at the exact same time, still bouncing excitedly.

_“Jinsillo?” _ Namjoon perks up, a strange expression on his face. _ Really? _

_“Taehyung _ is here?” Seokjin echoes his husband’s excitement.

“My ears are burning,” a new voice drawls from the other side of the room, and all heads turn around at once towards the doorway. Standing framed in the entrance to the kitchen is a solitary figure, dark-haired with gold lining his darker eyes, hands on his hips atop the velvet robe that he has draped across his shoulders.

Jimin recognizes the beautiful face of his long-time friend immediately, and in an instant he is across the room, arms flung around the newcomer’s neck. Taehyung embraces him easily, chuckling low in his throat as they sway together happily.

“TaeTae,” Jimin hums happily.

“Missed you, _dìdì_,” Taehyung whispers into his hair.

When they pull away and Jimin tugs on the taller man’s hand, pulling him back to the table, the entire room is staring at them in interest. “You just docked your shuttle?” Jimin asks, and Taehyung hums in the affirmative. “How long’re you stayin’ this time?”

“That depends on how long my brother’s hospitality holds out,” Taehyung returns easily, his eyes sweeping across the table until he locks eyes with Yoongi. The captain stares back at him, blank-faced and silent.

“The ambassador returneth!” A voice breaks through the uncomfortable lull in conversation, and Taehyung and Jimin sweep their eyes over to the far end of the table where Seokjin and Namjoon had extricated themselves from each other. Seokjin smiles up at the newcomer warmly, an expression that Taehyung easily returns—but the look on his husband’s face is a different beast entirely.

“Taehyung…” The first mate breathes out, and gets to his feet with a clatter, hands raising up and then jerking back to his sides like he can’t quite figure out what to do with them.

Taehyung seems to take pity on him and sidles forward to bring the taller man into an embrace, Taehyung’s beautiful silken clothes clashing wildly with the leather and canvas that Namjoon always wears. They make quite the sight together, Jimin thinks with a secret smile—and even more so with Seokjin also rises to his feet, bright floral shirt and all, and leans forward to place a gentle kiss in greeting against Taehyung’s golden cheek.

“I didn’t realize we had a _ state official _ joining us,” the preacher— Jaehyun—pipes up as they pull away, rising to greet Taehyung with a smile and an extended hand. “It’s very nice to meet you, sir.”

Taehyung falters, reaching out with a well-manicured hand to answer the preacher’s grip. “Oh...I’m sorry, I’m not actually—”

“He’s a _ whore.” _ Yoongi pipes up from where he has remained seated at the head of the table opposite them, and Taehyung’s head whips around to stare at the captain with narrowed eyes.

“He’s a _ companion,” _Jimin corrects immediately, crossing arms over his chest, “It’s not the same—”

“No, Jimin...leave it.” Taehyung says, reaching out to stroke the mechanic’s arm soothingly. “My brother has never been quiet about what he thinks about my profession, and I don’t expect him to start now.”

“Oh, I—” Jaehyun stutters, sinking back to his seat with a tense look on his face.

“Ambassador is just my brother’s little...nickname for me,” Taehyung explains to the preacher with a not unkind smile, “It’s how he explains—”

“He basically _is_ our ambassador,” Yoongi interrupts, ignoring Taehyung to address Jaehyun directly. “There’s planets out there won’t let you land without a half-decent companion aboard, see?” Jaehyun gives a small, uncomfortable nod. “Oh, that’s—that’s not going to be a _ problem _ for you, is it? Preacher?”

“I—well, I—I don’t—” Jaehyun tries to say, but Taehyung takes pity on him.

“It’s fine. _Fang xin,”_ _ Don’t worry. _“I mostly keep to myself,” he says, and there’s a tension on his face now that Jimin doesn’t like one bit.

_“Gēgē…”_ Jimin murmurs to him as he steps away. _ Brother… _

“What, don’t want to come down from your ivory tower to mingle with the masses?” Yoongi snaps, “Spent too long with your highfalutin’ core-worlders and now you’re too good to spend time with th’ rest of us?”

Taehyung narrows his eyes across the room at the captain, his back straightening defiantly as he snaps, “Maybe you should make sure they want to spend time with _ me _ first.”

With that, the companion turns on his heel, his robe fluttering around his ankles, and marches right back out of the kitchen the way he entered.

“TaeTae—!” Jimin calls after his friend, but Yoongi cuts him off immediately.

“Oh, let ‘im go, he’s just bein’ dramatic.”

“Really, Yoongi?” Seokjin snaps across the table at the captain, arms crossed over his chest too. At his side, Namjoon has his eyes fixed on the doorway as if expecting Taehyung to rematerialize there. “The first time we’re all back together, and you have to—”

“Just drop it, will you?” Yoongi huffs, turning back to his plate and picking up his fallen silverware. “Not in front of our _ company.” _

Seokjin gives a little snort like he can’t believe Yoongi’s actions, but he drops back down into his chair all the same and drags his husband with him, rubbing a soothing hand across Namjoon’s shoulders.

“That wasn’t _ nice, _ cap’n…” Jimin murmurs, pouting, as he steps around the table and sits back in his seat at Yoongi’s side, but the captain just shrugs his shoulders and digs back into his food.

For a few long minutes, the table is uncomfortably silent, the only sound the soft scrape of silverware against the plates and the smack of lips. At Jimin’s other side, Hoseok stares down at his own plate, shuffling his food across its surface without actually eating any of it.

“I didn’t mean to make things uncomfortable…” Jaehyun finally speaks up, looking around at the other members of the table apologetically.

“It’s fine, dear,” Seokjin reassures him, leaning forward to heap more food onto the man’s plate. “Bygones, and all that. I’m _ much _ more interested in hearing the rest of your story about leaving the abbey—”

The preacher looks a little uncomfortable, a little red around the ears, but concedes easily enough, slipping back into his conversation with Seokjin and Namjoon _ almost _ as though nothing interrupted them—and slowly, the rest of the table follows suit.

Jimin is happy to simply sit and soak in their conversations, picking up things here and there from each of them, and the tension in his own body slowly slips away as he becomes absorbed in each of them, Yoongi remaining silent at his side. Eventually, their new company take turns going around the room to introduce themselves to one another, each with their own interesting stories to tell, and Jimin is _ enthralled _ with all of them.

Some of the stories he had picked up on the dock—one a lawyer making the passage to the next planet for a client, another a travelling workman looking for new opportunities—but others he is excited to hear for the first time. In particular, when the conversation turns to Hoseok in the corner, Jimin is especially anxious to know more about the most enigmatic of their guests—has been ever since their first chance meeting on the dock, he thinks.

Hoseok, on the other hand, is _ particularly _ taciturn when faced with the entire crew’s eyes on him. He’s been quiet throughout the whole meal, really, so Jimin takes it upon himself to get the mysterious man to open up and leans forward in his chair to engage him in conversation in the least threatening way he can imagine.

“So...you’re a doctor, right?”

“I—what?” Hoseok asks, clearly startled. The dark-haired man appears to stiffen immediately at the question, legs turning as if readying to help him jump up out of his chair.

Jimin gives him a sheepish look as he hurries to explain, “It’s just—your bag. I noticed, I mean—I saw some of your equipment, I just assumed—”

Hoseok seems to immediately relax at Jimin’s words, slinking back into his chair as though nothing happened—though the tension in his body still lingers, his gloved hands curled into fists beneath the table where no one but Jimin can see.

“A doctor?” Yoongi pipes up from Jimin’s other side, and the mechanic leans back to make room for him to address Hoseok directly. “You don’t say.”

“Something like that,” Hoseok answers shortly, his tone cold. Jimin feels that same tension rise in his neck as he looks back and forth between the two men.

“So how’s a high-to-do educated man from some fancy rock in the core end up shipping out for a backberth like _ Whitefall, _ of all places?” Yoongi says, referencing their next destination, and Jimin sits up uncomfortably at the leading tone that the captain has taken. _ Oh no. _ “That _ is _ where you’re headed, yes?”

Hoseok narrows his eyes at the captain, crossing his arms over his chest as he stares right back at him. “And what business of yours is my destination?”

“Oh, nothin’,” Yoongi says with a raise of his eyebrows as he leans back in his chair, stretching out his legs so that he seems to take up more space.

“Call it my..._ morbid curiosity _ gettin’ the better of me. Always wanna know where folks are up to when they’re about to spend several months _ under my roof.” _

“Your morbid curiosity is a bit pointed_...captain.” _ Hoseok shoots back, refusing to rise to the bait. Jimin pouts, turning to look at Yoongi with a frown—why does he always have to _ do _ this? First Taehyung, now Hoseok...

“That’s not an answer,” Yoongi bites back, ignoring Jimin completely as he stares Hoseok down like a challenge.

Hoseok bristles, shoulders rising up to his ears beneath the dark silk of his outer hanbok. “And what do you want to know, _ exactly? _ Are you looking for my entire _ itinerary?” _

“Jus’ feel a mighty need to make sure you’re...heading in the right direction, _nǐ lǐjiě ma?” You get me? _“So...what business does an inner-rim dandy have on a dirt-poor planet like Whitefall, hm?”

Hoseok doesn’t answer for a moment, though his lip twitches at the captain’s assessment of himself as a _‘dandy,’ _ clearly looking Yoongi up and down and taking in the other man’s rugged clothes and dirty boots with barely masked disdain.

“Sightseeing.”

Yoongi sits forward then, elbows propped up on the edge of the table, a look of mock interest on his face. “Not puttin’ any of your fancy learnin’ to good use with people what could use it, then?”

“Excuse me—?”

“Yoongi—” Jimin tries to say.

“I’m just sayin’, that would be a good use of your time, wouldn’t’ya think? Would be a real respectable sort of reason to be headin’ to the outer rim.” Yoongi tilts his head, and Jimin gets a good look at his face, all-too-aware now that the confrontation stewing in the captain’s blood from seeing Taehyung earlier hasn’t left him one bit. _ Especially _ now that he’s talking to someone like Hoseok, who is clearly just as well-raised as Taehyung had been—the _ exact _ sort of thing that would grind at Yoongi’s gears.

“But that’s not what you’ve got planned, is it?”

“Again, I don’t know what sort of business of _ yours _ that is—”

“What are you, some sort of..._poverty tourist _ or something’? Fancy rich man come to gawk at those less fortunate?”

“How _ dare you _—”

“Or, worse, maybe you’re just some sort of _ fed, _hm? You sure dress like one. I bet you’ve seen a hundred whores like Taehyung in your time—”

“That’s enough!” Jimin shouts, slamming his hands down on the table as he gets back to his feet. “Stop it, both of you!” Once again the entire table falls silent, all eyes on the mechanic as he stomps his feet. “This was supposed to be a _ nice _ dinner—”

“No, don’t worry. I’ll be leaving, so you can just carry on.” Hoseok’s chair scrapes across the floor as he gets to his feet, brushing off invisible wrinkles on the front of his hanbok as he quickly steps around the table and heads towards the door.

“Have a nice night, everyone.” He pauses. _“...Captain.”_ And with that, he steps over the threshold, back stiff, and disappears down the stairs.

“Well...I guess dinner is over,” Seokjin sighs, getting to his feet and immediately beginning to clear plates away from the table. “It was fun while it lasted.”

“I’ll get us in the air,” Namjoon says, leaning over to give his husband a kiss on his cheek before slinking away to the helm, shoulders hunched up towards his ears while his hands bury themselves in his pockets.

The rest of the other passengers seem to take that as their cue to leave as well, murmuring their thanks before piling up their own plates and slowly dispersing from the room toward their own bunks for the night.

Jimin leaves his plate exactly where it is, choosing instead to stomp past Yoongi—close enough that his shoulder hits the captain’s side as he does—and follows after Hoseok towards the back of the ship.

He catches up to the doctor at the bottom of the stairs, out of breath from the way he sprinted along the way. “H—Hoseok, wait—”

“Yes?” The man asks, his tone cold, as he moves towards the luggage that he left behind in the loading bay. He bends down, back to Jimin, and fiddles with the lock on the large silver crate that he had deposited there earlier, the same cargo that had almost run Jimin over earlier.

“I’m sorry for the cap’n,” Jimin hurries to say, “He’s not usually like that, I promise—”

“Like I said,” Hoseok replies, still looking away. “It’s fine. There’s no accounting for what people like him might end up doing.”

“People like him?” The mechanic can’t help but ask, stepping forward.

“Angry people. The...rougher type of folk.”

Jimin sighs, head hanging low. “He’s a sweet man, I promise...he’s just...no good with strangers, it takes a bit of time for people to—”

“I have no intention of spending any more time than I have to with that man, rest assured.” Hoseok stands again, dragging both of his bags up off the floor with him. When he turns around, Jimin gets a good look at his face for the first time, his tinted glasses nowhere to be seen—he’s just as handsome as Jimin expected him to be, with a strong jaw and heart-shaped lips below a cute, upturned nose.

“Oh—” Jimin looks down at the luggage worriedly, “You don’t—you don’t have’ta _ leave _ or anything, I mean—we’re about to take off, you’re still welcome here—”

“Jimin—”

“Please don’t go, I’d be so _sad_ if you left—”

“Jimin.” Hoseok slings one bag over his shoulder and raises his empty hand placatingly. “I’m not leaving. Calm down.”

“Oh, you’re—you’re not?”

For the first time, Hoseok lets out a small chuckle, the ghost of a smile crossing his lips now. “No…” He shakes his head, dark hair swinging with the motion. “I’m just taking my things to my room. Would you mind showing me the way?”

Jimin’s heart is still skipping anxiously, but he breaks into a relieved grin at Hoseok’s reassurance. “Yes, yes—of course!”

With his arms quickly loaded up with luggage, Jimin leads the way away from the loading bay towards the underbelly of the ship where the spare rooms are tucked away.

Hoseok is just as quiet as they walk, shuffling in step with Jimin all the way to the door that Jimin gestures at to indicate that it will be his. But as they settle Hoseok’s limited things into place, Jimin can’t help but speak up.

“I have'ta ask…” he starts, then pauses, considering his words.

“Yes?” Hoseok says again as he settles down onto his bed and tests its springiness.

“The cap’n was mighty awful to you up there…”

“Indeed.”

“I thought you’d hightail it outta here after that, honestly…” He scrubs his hands against his legs, “But I’m glad you stayed, and…”

“Is there a question in there, somewhere?”

“Why _ are _ you?”

“Staying?”

“Yeah.”

Hoseok pauses for a moment, staring thoughtfully into the distance. “Because it’s honest.”

“The captain?”

“His anger. The way he looks down on me. The core-worlders.” He cracks a little smile, sardonic to a fault. “It’s honest, and that’s hard to come by these days. He’s completely wrong about the purpose of my travels, but…”

“But he’s an honest man, yeah,” Jimin agrees. “That he is.”

A small, comfortable silence falls between them as they stand, several feet apart, gazing across the small room at each other. Hoseok is the one who breaks it with an audible inhale.

“Why...do you care so much? That I stay?”

Jimin’s answering smile is probably a bit more sad than he’d like it to be. “I thought it would be nice to have a friend, tha’s all.”

“Hmm.”

Jimin takes a deep breath, then squares his shoulders again. “I should leave you be, we’re ‘bout to be takin’ off in a few and I’m needed in the engine room.”

The look in Hoseok’s eyes shifts to something distant—something _ haunted _ this time. He swallows thickly, but manages a shaky nod.

“Have a good night, doctor…” Jimin says softly, and steps back through the door, closing it on the new passenger’s troubled face with a small _ snap. _

· ✹ •.· + ˚ ✧ . · +. ·. ✦ ˚ · . ✹ . ✧

The bridge is dark, illuminated only by the flickering lights across the console and the distant twinkle of stars through the windows, but it’s enough to see by and that’s what matters. Below them, the engines give the gentle hum of effort, and behind them, the rest of the ship is quiet.

“You need t’ say somethin’, Joonie…” Seokjin says as he settles back into his usual chair, kicking his feet up against the console. Above his feet sit two small dinosaur figurines, made of plastic, that he has carried with him from the moment he joined their crew. His heart feels heavy in his chest as he speaks, though he’s quick to attribute it to a glitch in the artificial gravity keeping him from floating out of his seat.

Namjoon leans back against the opposite wall, arms crossed over his leather vest. “Like what? You know how he is, he’s not gonna hear a word of—”

“It’s been over a _ month _ since you took your leave, an’ it was hard as hell to be without you for so long but it was supposed to be a _ vacation, _and the captain comes back angrier than ever.” Seokjin rolls his eyes, running a hand through his light hair.

“Now we’ve got a group’a strangers in our belly and he’s damn near scared half of ‘em into walkin’ right out of the airlock.”

Namjoon is quiet for a moment, though his expression shows no disagreement. “I didn’t know it’d gotten this bad…”

“I think it took us all by surprise,” the pilot agrees while leaning down to make a few slight adjustments to their course. “Among other things.”

The pilot’s tone is light, but his meaning isn’t lost of his husband, who runs a heavy hand over his face and into his hair, giving a heavy, world-weary sigh. “So you didn’t know he was going to be here either?”

The _ he _ in question is obvious, the Companion having been just about the only thing on either of their minds since leaving the dinner table. “Of course I didn’t,” Seokjin replies with a roll of his eyes, “I’m devious on occasion, but I’m not _ that _ cruel.” His words are teasing but the expression doesn’t quite bleed into his tone. “I was just as surprised as you were, Joonie…”

“How many months has it been since we last saw ‘im?” Namjoon murmurs.

“Too many. Three, at least.”

“I hated how we left things—”

“You know you’re not alone in that,” Seokjin interrupts, turning his chair to fully face his husband now. He tilts his head down to better meet Namjoon’s eyes, giving him a pointed but affectionate look. “I was there for all of it too.”

“I know, I just—”

“I was also there when he decided to leave again,” Seokjin says, softer. Namjoon’s head hangs low at that, and Seokjin makes a sympathetic hum in the back of his throat, sliding to his feet to move to his husband’s side. He runs a hand through the younger man’s dark hair, smoothing it off Namjoon’s forehead. “I know, I know…”

They don’t have to exchange any more words on the subject, both of them more than aware at the pain, the confusion they have both experienced. Despite years spent in battle, smuggling jobs that have gone south—it seems that Kim Taehyung may be their greatest challenge yet.

“I’m just worried that this visit will be as short as his last, what with the way Yoongi is already barkin’ at him,” he continues gently, seeing a chance to redirect back to his original point.

Namjoon doesn’t respond to his words directly, choosing instead to focus on an easier subject, and Seokjin is far from surprised. “Gonna be awful hard to convince these new passengers that we’re an upstandin’, law-abidin’ crew if we all keep fightin’ like this…”

“Oh, I don’t know about _ that…” _The pilot breaks into a small smile. “I think I’m more than charming enough to keep them distracted…”

Namjoon looks up at him with an answering smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “That you are, my love…”

Seokjin accepts it for what it is and leans down to give his husband a sweet, lingering kiss. “It’s good to have you home,” he whispers.

“It’s good to be home.”

“Even if you’re bringin’ all sorts of trouble with you,” Seokjin adds, leaning his forehead against his husband’s, and he feels Namjoon smile against his lips.

“You wouldn’t have me any other way.”

They stand like that, the pilot leaning against Namjoon, simply basking in each others’ presence, for several long minutes—long enough that the censors on the console start to beep to remind him of what he’s _ supposed _ to be doing. When he pulls away, Namjoon is entirely reluctant to let him go, and he bends down for another, more leading kiss.

_“Later…” _ he promises, before fully extricating himself. Namjoon makes an expression that _ isn’t _ a pout, he knows his husband would insist, and he tosses a sharp look over his shoulder at the former soldier as he sidles back over to his seat. _ “If _ you talk to the captain.”

“I’ll talk to him, I promise—”

“Talk to me about what?” A voice calls out from behind them, and they both spin around to see Yoongi climbing the short staircase into the bridge.

Namjoon straightens up immediately at his appearance, arms swinging behind his back in a loose approximation of parade rest, and Seokjin only just manages to hold back from rolling his eyes. “We were, uh, just talking about the job from today, sir.”

“...right,” Seokjin reluctantly agreed. “What, exactly, happened when y’all went down to the docks?”

Yoongi shrugs and sinks down into the empty co-pilot’s chair, and Namjoon takes it as permission to relax and lean back against the console again. This time, Seokjin doesn’t bother not rolling his eyes at his husband’s old habits—always a soldier, it seems. “Nothin’ much, just a typical job pickup…”

There’s a look that crosses his husband’s face at the captain’s words that Seokjin doesn’t like _ one bit. _ “Why don’t I believe you?”

“Well…” Namjoon begins, but Yoongi interrupts him immediately.

“There _ might’ve _ been a bitova complication...with the cargo…”

“Xiàng shénme??!” _ Like what?! _

· ✹ •.· + ˚ ✧ . · +. ·. ✦ ˚ · . ✹ . ✧

** _One month earlier… _ **

_His helmet is filled with nothing but the sound of his own breathing, the stuttering in-and-out of the air processor working harder than it needs to. He resolves not to mention it, lest Jimin squawk at him about their imminent need to replace their exosuits—along with just about everything else._

_“Gotta be quiet about it,” he says into his intercom, and watches as Seokjin nods and leans closer to the access hatch in front of them. The ship it belongs to, the ship they are currently crawling across like so many space mites, is a wreck—one that has clearly been abandoned for many months, he would wager—but one was abandoned with plenty aboard worth salvaging._

_Yoongi doesn’t usually do this type of work with the pilot, which makes him especially antsy. His eyes never leave Seokjin’s hands, watching carefully as the pilot places an electrical wire along the bulkhead around the hatch, securing it in place with gel so that it seals tightly to the metal surface. _

_It’s not a perfect job, Seokjin’s hands shaking a bit too much from unfamiliarity—and probably nerves, though Yoongi is kind enough not to mention it—but it’s good enough. Clearly the pilot has been paying attention. _

_“Zhǔnbèi?” _ Ready?

_“As I’ll ever be,” Seokjin replies, floating back away from the ship to stay out of the way, and Yoongi readies the electrical charge in his hands that the wires are attached to. _

_“Burn in three...two...one—” _

_It’s almost anticlimactic, the way the charge that is sent down the wire burns through the hull without so much as a spark, just slowly eating away at the metal until a circle is left burned through the hull and the hatch floats free all on its own. _

_Yoongi can’t help the little smile that turns up the corners of his lips as he moves the disconnected hatch and looks inside the new hole in the hull to find exactly what he was looking for—several crates of cargo stacked atop one another, all clearly intact despite whatever has happened to the ship itself. _

_“Just as promised,” he says, and nods for Seokjin to join him in sliding through the hole to grab hold of their new loot. The wrestle the containers one-by-one through the opening, letting them float aimlessly into the black, knowing they won’t go far. _

_Seokjin takes a glance around the inside of the abandoned ship as they snatch the last of the containers, eyes flickering up through the clear visor of his exosuit up towards the ceiling, where a single light flickers with the last dredges of electricity still running through the ship’s circuits. “Hey...what do you think happened here…?” _

_“Best not to ask,” Yoongi says with a grunt, throwing his crate towards the opening and pushing it through with the tip of his boot. _

_“The atmo isn’t turned on, life support doesn’t seem to be running…” Seokjin murmurs, mostly to himself, as he takes stock of his surroundings on the way back out into the _ _black. “I just have a nasty feeling…” _

_“Can you have it more _ quietly?” _ Yoongi sighs, shoving at the pilot’s shoulder to push him out in front of him. “Let’s just get this all back t’ the ship, cōngmáng.” _Hurry.

_“Yeah, yeah…” Seokjin says, as irreverent as always, and Yoongi lets it slide if only in the interest of putting this desolate wreck behind them. “I’m comin’.” _

_But just as his boots land on the hull outside of the ship, he hears a beeping noise in his ear, followed by Seokjin’s suddenly frantic shout crackling through his intercom. “Captain! We’ve got trouble!” _

_“What?” He turns to look at his pilot, finding Seokjin staring down at the controls on his suit that are attached to their ship, tension in the lines of his body. _

_“We got an incoming Alliance cruiser, bearing right down on us—” _

_“Tā mā de—” _ Fuck. _ Yoongi grips at his own arm, flicking a switch to activate the small booster pack on his back, giving him just enough propulsion to skim up the side of the wreckage to peek over the top. Sure enough, just beyond the gnarled metal, there is an unnatural green glow in the distance, moving among the stars that surround it slowly enough to be noticeable unless you were looking for it—an Alliance Tohoku-class cruiser. _

_“Have they spotted us?” _

_Seokjin fumbles at his controls, stabbing at the screen on his wrist with gloved fingers. “I can’t tell if—” _

_“Have they _ hailed _ us?” _

_“If they’re here for the salvage, we’re humped—” Seokjin rubs a hand over his helmet as if trying to run his fingers through his hair _

_“If they find us at all, we’re humped! Thieving ain’t exactly—” Yoongi cuts himself off with a fist slammed against the nearest crate. _

_“Shut it down, now! Everything but the air.” _

_Seokjin startles and slaps at his intercom. “Jimin!” For a moment, there’s silence, followed by a scrambling noise—no doubt the mechanic falling out of the hammock he keeps pinned up in the engine room. _

_“Aish—” _

_“Jimin! Go to blackout, we’re being buzzed!” The pilot snaps into the intercom, alerting Jimin to the sweep of their systems by the government vehicle that the mechanic likely didn’t notice, especially if he was napping—as it seems he was. _

_“Geu wie, goin’ dark!” The mechanic’s voice echoes back at them from the ship where they have anchored along the side of the wreckage, followed by the familiar sound of footsteps echoing through a hallway in the distance. _

_From his position, Yoongi can see the few lights that have been left on inside of _Serenity_ click to black from front to back, leaving the ship barely relatively camouflaged against the metal wreckage around it. He holds his breath for a few long moments as the cruiser draws closer—no longer an unnatural light in the distance, but instead the unmistakable spires of a government city-ship, a fortress in space that is headed right for them. _

_“Are they slowing down?” He asks into the silence. _

_It takes a few terse moments for Seokjin to examine his readings before replying, slowly, “...that’s a neg...looks like they’re passing by.” He glances up at the looming shadow of the absolutely _ massive _ structure that’s moments away from passing overhead. “We should be eating wake in a minute or two.” _

_Yoongi lets out the breath he has been holding, turning his head down to look at the cargo still floating just within reach, making a quick calculation of the labor left to be done to get it all onboard. _

_“Wait—no—” Seokjin’s voice crackles through his helmet. “Ai Ya Jwai Leh—” _ Shit on my head. _ “Captain, we’re humped.” _

_So, they _ had _ been detected after all. Fuck. He tosses a look up at the Alliance cruiser, considers flipping them off for a moment. Another slam of his fist against the hull beneath him instead releases enough anger for Yoongi to clear his head. _

_“Jah Yoh,” Go! “We move these inside, double-time. Jimin, prep the ship now!” _

_Jimin shouts back through the intercom, “Aye aye, cap’n! Ready and waiting!” _

_Seokjin scrambles to grab as many of the crates as he can, shoving them unceremoniously beneath his arms before grabbing more with his hands. Yoongi watches his progress back up the side of the wreckage, ensuring his safety before reaching for his own share of the cargo to haul. There are a few cases left behind that begin to float too far out of reach, but there’s no time and it’s a sacrifice he has to be willing to accept if they’re going to get out of here in one piece. _

_He catches up to Seokjin easily enough, far more comfortable with space-walking than the pilot ever will be, and gives him an encouraging push towards the airlock at the base of _Serenity_ where Jimin has left it open for them. “Go on!” _

_They stumble and crash their way inside, the airlock sealing quickly behind them, and toss their cargo to the floor as soon as the artificial gravity kicks on. Yoongi is out of his suit in a matter of moments, Seokjin stumbling behind him while tripping his way out of the gear, and they drag the crates with them two at a time into the cargo bay while the ship hums to life beneath them. _

_Seokjin looks antsy as he scrambles up the stairs, clearly eager to have control of the ship back from the mechanic that is currently steering them away from danger, but Yoongi hangs back, reaching for a radio installed into the wall instead. _

_“Cry, baby, cry!” He shouts into the mic, and within moments he hears the mechanic laugh over the intercom. _

_“Make your mother sigh! Engaging the Cry Baby.” _

_It’s their codeword, the phrase that indicates that Jimin—or, usually, Seokjin—should activate the decoy beacon they have floating several clicks away, somewhere in the dead space between here and the planet they just left. A beacon that cries like a little baby, alerting the alliance to a stranded vessel in need of their assistance—a vessel that definitely doesn’t exist. One like the ship they just scavenged from, ironically, Yoongi thinks. _

_As the beacon inevitably draws the attention of the Alliance officers aboard the cruiser, they have just enough time to gun it in the other direction—which is exactly what he directs Jimin to do. _

_“Punch it!” _

_Jimin giggles over the loudspeaker. “Let’s moon ‘em!” _

_“Hey—gimme that—” He hears Seokjin mutter at a distance, and then some sort of scuffle, followed by the pilot’s voice, much closer, taking over the conversation. “Hold onto something!” _

_Yoongi ignores him, instead climbing the stairs with practiced ease, striking a balance even as the engine kicks into gear and he can feel them speeding away from the wreckage as though they had never been there in the first place. He sidles down the accessway to the bridge, ducking through the door to find Jimin curled up in the co-pilot’s chair, grinning from ear to ear, while Seokjin has a death grip on the joystick to keep the ship steady in their escape. _

_“Are they following?” He asks, and Jimin hums thoughtfully, looking down at the console in front of himself for a few moments before looking back up with that same grin. _

_“We look shiny, captain—they ain't comin’ about.” _

_“That was a close one!” Seokjin says with a strained voice, though his shoulders seem to be relaxing by the second as the Alliance cruiser disappears behind them. _

_“Any one you walk away from, right? As long as we got the goods, I’d call this a win!” Jimin chatters away, and Seokjin turns to grin at them both. _

_But it’s precisely the moment that all three of them take their eyes off the front windows that something comes hurtling towards them out of the black, thudding against the glass before sliding back with the force of their motion and disappearing over the top of the ship. _

_“Tā mā de shénme was that?” _What the fuck was that?

_“I don’t know, I—” Seokjin starts, but a second thud interrupts him. _

_This time, all three of them get a perfectly clear view of what they have run into—or, more accurately, what has run into _them.

_It’s an _ arm, _ clearly human—but _ just _ an arm, and nothing more. It looks to have been frozen, judging by the blue tint of the skin, and separated from the rest of the body that it belongs to at the shoulder. Beside Yoongi, Jimin gasps and jumps to his feet, startled by another impact—this time from what appears to be part of a torso. _

_There’s no blood, only skin, tattered clothes—the remains of someone that has now been scattered into the black. Yoongi knows exactly what he’s looking at the moment that he spots it, especially as he turns his gaze past the body parts that are sliding across the front of his ship to the void beyond, where several bodies—some intact, some less than—are floating aimlessly in the empty space. _

_“What—W-What is it?” Jimin says, now trembling at the captain’s side. _

_Yoongi swallows as he curls an arm around the mechanic’s shoulders and pulls him close to his chest, shielding his face away from the gory sight. _

_“Reavers.” _

_Jimin gasps, clearly horrified, and tears himself away from the captain’s grip, bolting off down the hallway towards the rear of the ship instead. _

_“They must’ve gotten to the wreckage before we did…” Seokjin muses from his seat. _

_“They probably _ caused _ it,” Yoongi rebutts. _

_“Hmm…” The pilot muses. “I guess we got lucky. They don’t seem t’be hangin’ around. Could’ve been us, but we made out okay instead.” He tilts the joystick and steers the ship clear of the scattered remains, pointing it instead towards Persephone, the next planet set to be their destination. _

_“Right…” Yoongi murmurs, mostly to himself, as he settles down into the vacant chair and stares out into the black. “We win.” _

· ✹ •.· + ˚ ✧ . · +. ·. ✦ ˚ · . ✹ . ✧

** _Now_ **

“You let _ Jimin _ drive?” Namjoon bursts out after a moment of stunned silence.

“That can_ not _ be the most important thing you got from this story…” Seokjin groans, sliding down in his chair as if defeated. “Unbelievable.”

“It was the easiest part to wrap my mind around,” Namjoon defends himself.

“Well as much as I _ love _ telling stories of my thrilling heroics,” Seokjin says, causing both of the other men to snort, _ “you’re _ supposed to be explaining things to _ me, _not the other way around!” The pilot whines, pointing an accusatory finger at the captain first, then his husband. “What does this have to do with what happened planetside?”

“Well…” Yoongi finally pipes up, “Turns out that Alliance cruiser was hangin’ around for a _ reason.” _He slides a hand down his leg to reach into his pocket, withdrawing a hefty brick of some sort, one that shines gold and alluring in the dim light.

He holds it out for the pilot to see, and upon further inspection, Seokjin recognizes it for what it is—a block of synthetic food, packed with vitamins and protein and immunization supplements, the sort that is designed to keep travelers alive on the edge of space.

_“Synthmadol,”_ he breathes, almost in awe, taking the brick from the captain.

“Seems we stumbled across more than just some run-o’-the-mill salvage on that wreck,” the captain explains, “That weren't just a small travelling vessel we stumbled across, it was a _ settler _ caravan. Those folk must’ve been headin’ to the outer rim for a new life.”

“Until the Reaver’s hit ‘em,” Seokjin agrees.

“And you’re sure none of ‘em followed you?” Namjoon asks, a nervous edge to his voice.

“Weren’t none of them around to follow us, sweetie, don’t you fret,” Seokjin reassures him.

“Wasn’t the Reavers we needed to worry about, was it, though…” Yoongi grumbles, crossing his arms.

Seokjin looks over at the captain at that. “Whaddya mean?”

“Turn it over,” he instructs, pointing at the metallic brick in the pilot’s hand, and Seokjin flips the Synthmadol over in his grip until the backside is clearly visible even in the dim light—revealing the unmistakable pattern of a circle and several stars stamped into its surface. An Alliance imprint.

_“Mā de…” Oh, shit. _Seokjin gives an appreciative whistle. “They’re all like this?”

“Every last one of ‘em, tagged all to high hell as Alliance property.”

“And when we took them to our potential buyer on Persephone, well…” Namjoon gives a little, sardonic smile. “Let’s just say they didn’t take to it kindly.”

_“Shìqíng yǒngyuǎn bù huì àn jìhuà jìnxíng,”_ Seokjin groans. _ Things never go according to plan. _“So...what do we do with it now?”

“Whitefall,” Yoongi says simply, as though that explains everything.

“Whitefall,” the pilot repeats flatly, unimpressed.

“You know that’s where we’re headin’...”

Seokjin scoffs. “Well, _ yeah, _ I know our destination, I’m the gorramn _ pilot—” _

“Then what’s the problem?”

“It’s just that I seem to be remembering a _particular_ incident, the last time we made land on Whitefall…” Seokjin trails off, raising his eyebrows meaningfully.

“If you’re referring to the scuffle we had with Patience, that was a _ legitimate misunderstanding,” _ Yoongi waves him off. “She’s a businesswoman now, runs half that damn moon at this point. She’ll want what we have to sell, won’t make any trouble of it either.”

_“Legitimate misunderstanding…” _ Seokjin mutters under his breath, “She _ shot _ you.” He thinks back to the last time they had chance to interact with the tiny woman in question, a spit-fire old woman with damn-near deadly aim, and shudders at the thought of being anywhere near her in the foreseeable future.

“Less likely to run into any feds all the way out on this type'a journey,” Yoongi continues, “Which is handy, seeing as that Alliance cruiser on our backs decided to tag us, broadcast our information all over the cortex. We’re wanted men, my friends.”

_“Oh, qīng wā cāo de liúmáng _ ... _ ” _ Seokjin mutters angrily to himself, turning away to bang ineffectively at the console. _ Frog-humping son of a bitch. _ “So we’re going to be spending three months. In space. With passengers. Right on top of our_ stolen cargo._ _ That’s _a fun mix.”

_“Is _ that why we’re takin’ on passengers, sir?” Namjoon asks, unfazed by this news, as he was there when it was delivered “On the way to Whitefall?”

Yoongi nods, pursing his lips. “Keeps a legitimate lid on things, earns us some upstandin’ coin along the way. I figured it wouldn’t hurt.” He snorts, as if something he just thought of was funny. “‘Sides, ain’t it _ nice, _ havin’ some _ company _ for the journey? It’s a long ways to Whitefall from here.”

“Well...about that, sir…” Namjoon pipes up, seeing an opportunity. Seokjin perks up, waiving a hand out of Yoongi’s line of sight to encourage his husband on.

“You got somethin’ to say?” Yoongi leans back in his chair again, a challenge in his eyes. “Spit it out.”

“It’s just that—well—” Namjoon scratches at the back of his neck, clearly uncomfortable, and Seokjin gives his husband a little kick to the shin to motivate him. “Aish! I—Well, I—I’m just thinkin’...things might go a bit smoother ‘round here if there weren’t so much conflictin’ with the passengers, wouldn’t you say?”

“I only have conflict where conflict is earned, you know that,” Yoongi says, “I don’t go fightin’ with them that don’t deserve it.”

“Normally, I’d agree, sir, but—”

Namjoon looks more uncomfortable by the second. Seokjin braces himself and interjects, “What my lovely husband is _ trying _ to say is that it would be easier to keep our _ stolen cargo _ hidden from passengers that have no reason to suspect anything, _nǐ dǒng wǒ de yìsi ma?”_ _ You know what I mean? _

“Ain’t no way in the verse they could find the compartment where we’ve hidden it, even if they were looking for it,” Yoongi insists.

“And why not?”

Yoongi doesn’t seem to have an answer for that. “...’cause.”

Seokjin purses his lips disbelievingly. “Ah, yeah...this is gonna go _ great.” _

“Look, if anyone gets nosy, y’know, just...shoot ‘em.”

“Shoot them??” Seokjin squawks.

“Y’know...politely.”

“Sure, sure, that’ll just be the icing on the cake, won’t it? Picking a fight with a high-to-do doctor _ already _ raised a few eyebrows, and that’s not to mention what happened with Taehyung—”

“What happens between me and my brother is no one’s business but _ mine, dohn-ma?” Understand? _“It’s not like he’s going to be here for long enough that it’ll matter, anyway.” Yoongi’s tone leaves no room for argument, but Seokjin has never been one to listen to reason.

“All’s I’m sayin’ is that these fights didn’t seem to be as...deserved as usual.” He pauses. “Sir.”

Another pause, while the captain stares him down with a menacing glint in his eye. “And I think we’d all appreciate it if those were the last of ‘em for a while.”

Yoongi doesn’t say anything for a good long while, hands gripping at his own arms where they are crossed over his chest that it seems like they might bruise. Namjoon reaches out a hand to intertwine his pinkie with his husband, and Seokjin is immensely grateful for the comforting contact, no matter how small.

Finally, Yoongi lets out the breath it seems he has been holding, and points towards the door. “Get outta here. Both of you.”

“...Sir?” Namjoon asks, uncertain.

“Get some rest,” Yoongi tells them, his tone soft. “I’ll take over for now.”

Not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, Seokjin cracks a grin and jumps to his feet, dragging Namjoon with him. “Aye aye, captain!” He tugs the first mate towards the door, shooting a grateful look back at Yoongi, who is shifting from the co-pilot’s seat into the one that Seokjin just vacated. “Come on, hubby...time for me to give you a _ real _ homecoming....”

“I don’t wanna hear it!” Yoongi calls over his shoulder, pointedly looking out into the black.

Seokjin’s laughter echoes through the entire ship as the pilot kicks open the ladder to the bunk he shares with Namjoon and pulls his husband down after him.

“It’s good to be home…” Namjoon murmurs against his lips the moment their feet hit the floor, wrapping Seokjin up in his strong arms. Seokjin takes a deep breath, inhaling the scent of musk and leather and gun oil that clings to the younger man, and drags him back towards the bed.

_It sure is, _he thinks.

· ✹ •.· + ˚ ✧ . · +. ·. ✦ ˚ · . ✹ . ✧

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We've reached the end of Episode 1! For those of you familiar with canon, you might already notice some distinct similarities and some major differences! The plot of the story will be heading towards the endgame of the movie, but with a twist~ I hope you stick it out with me until the end ♡
> 
> If you're 18+, come cry with me over BTS on Twitter [here!](https://twitter.com/chimchimoanie)
> 
> Please send me motivation or questions on [CuriousCat](https://curiouscat.me/chimchimoanie)!


	2. Episode 2: War Stories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“The Alliance said that they were gonna waltz through Serenity Valley, and we choked ‘em with those words. We’ve done the impossible—and that makes us _mighty._ Just a little while longer, our angels are gonna be soarin’ overhead, rainin’ fire on those arrogant cod—so you hold! You _hold!_ Go!”_

Days in space pass by in the blink of an eye, no change in the view outside the portholes and the front windows. Jimin barely notices, what with the way he spends hours and hours in the engine room, hands and eyes focused on machinery instead of people. It’s easier this way, kinder to himself to just mind his own business. 

But when the mechanic needs a break, needs company to drown out his own thoughts, he finds himself creeping down the accessway from the engine room and descending the stairs to the walkways that cross above the large cargo bay. As he has the last couple of nights, tonight he finds himself hovering here—at the end of one such walkway, hand extended to knock on the door to one of the two shuttles that attach themselves on either side of the ship. 

Immediately upon knocking, he hears a sweet voice tell him to enter, and he slides the door open with barely-contained excitement. It’s always a rare treat to be able to spend time with his best friend, and the thrill hasn’t worn off even after several days. 

“_Dìdì_,” Taehyung greets him as soon as he slides the door closed and steps into the small shuttle proper. The shuttle is designed for short-range travel, emergencies and the like, though Taehyung has spent several years retrofitting it for his particular...needs. 

As always, the metal walls are draped in dark, rich curtains, silks and velvets covering every surface and dividing up the space into two makeshift rooms—one for a long couch covered in soft cushions, the other for his bed where it positively overflows with pillows and blankets made of fur. 

Jimin always feels completely out of place in this foreign space, particularly so as he slides his sandals off at the door and pads across the plush carpets that Taehyung has laid across the cold floor to join the companion where he kneels in front of an altar against one wall of the shuttle. 

Jimin has never been one for religion, finding more solace in the vastness of space than some sort of promise of higher power, but Taehyung has shown him over the years that they have spent as friends that there is true beauty in his devotion. The companion smiles at him as he kneels atop an empty cushion on the floor beside Taehyung, easily taking a stick of burning incense from the man when offered. 

“Back again?” Taehyung teases, his eyes crinkling at the corners in amusement. 

“As long as you’ll have me,” Jimin tosses back, bending an elbow to bump his friend in his side. 

They’re silent, then, for several minutes as Taehyung absorbs himself back into his prayers, lighting candle after candle in front of the large gold statue that sits against the wall. Jimin doesn’t recognize the god that it depicts—or goddess, he isn’t sure—but the way Taehyung stares up at it makes it seem all the more beautiful. 

Finally, the companion completes his ritual and sits back on his heels, settling the incense into its holder at the base of the statue, and Jimin follows suit. Taehyung takes his hand, then, and drags the mechanic to his feet.

“Have you had dinner?” Taehyung asks, and tuts disapprovingly when Jimin sheepishly shakes his head. 

When the taller man steps away from him to retrieve food for them both, Jimin is finally able to get a good look at what the companion has decided to wear today. At first, it appears to be a dress, but upon closer inspection he realizes that the material gathers at each Taehyung’s ankles, billowing between his legs to create the illusion that it is all one piece of fabric. Taehyung’s chest is bare, but another long stretch of fabric has been artfully draped across his shoulders, swooping down across his chest and under his arm before crossing behind him and repeating the same pattern on the other side. 

The effect is overall terribly  _ pretty, _ especially with the deep blue tint to the cloth and the deceptively detailed silver pattern embroidered along the edges. It looks like  _ space,  _ Jimin realizes after a beat—Taehyung has brought the galaxy into the shuttle for himself. 

Taehyung returns with a tray carefully loaded with small biscuits, an assortment of what look to be preserves, and an ornamental teapot. He gestures for Jimin to join him on the couch and settles beside the mechanic with the tray placed between them. His flowing outfit moves easily with the motion, and Jimin almost laughs when it occurs to him that this is actual a  _ casual _ outfit from Taehyung. 

“You’re still avoiding the captain, I see…” The companion says with a knowing look over the rim of his teacup as he raises it to crimson-stained lips. 

“So are you,” Jimin shoots back, snapping up one of the biscuits. The tea disappears quickly in between snippets of their playful conversation.

“Ah, but I have much more reason to, wouldn’t you say?” Taehyung counters, and the dark shadow on his eyelids highlights the sparkle of mischief in his eyes, “And far fewer reasons to listen to him.”

“I just…” Jimin pouts, “I don’t like how he talks to you, s’not right.”

“You’re so sweet, dìdì, but you shouldn’t jeopardize your relationship with your captain just for me…”

“I’m not  _ jeopardizin’ _ anythin’,” Jimin whines, “Jus’...teachin’ him a lesson, y’know?” 

“Ah, yes...I’m sure he’s learning something valuable, what with his entire crew giving him the cold shoulder.” That sparkle in his eyes practically seems to be dancing now. “How is he handling it?”

“‘Bout as well as you’d ‘spect,” Jimin chuckles between bites of another biscuit. “Poutin’ like a baby. He’s scaring Joonie, I think he keeps waiting for Yoongi to explode.”

“Oh, of _ course, _ it’s important to be ready to duck and cover when something like  _ that _ happens,” Taehyung nods in mock solemnity, “I would know more than most.”

They both stare at each other seriously for a moment, but it’s impossible to hold back their mirth, and within seconds they are both falling all over each other with laugher. Taehyung’s arms wrap easily around his shoulders, holding Jimin tightly to the silks of his clothes. 

Taehyung is tall enough to make Jimin feel exceptionally small, but here on the companion’s couch, curled into each other, he feels like he is absolutely the older man’s equal. 

_ Dìdì _ , Taehyung calls him.  _ Little brother.  _ That’s what they are—brothers. Soulmates, even. 

He knows it’s even more true when Taehyung leans back to look at him with an appraising eye, tracing a finger across his brow. “Would you like me to do your hair tonight, _wǒ zuì qīn'ài de péngyǒu?” _ _ My dearest friend.  _ “I know how much that makes you feel better.” 

Jimin hadn’t thought to  _ ask _ for it, but the moment that the Companion makes the suggestion, it’s the only thing that the mechanic wants in that moment. 

“Oh yes,  _ yes, _ please—”

“Alright, alright…” Taehyung laughs, his deep, throaty voice sounding so very warm. “Make yourself comfortable, and I’ll get to work.” Taehyung picks up the tray of their tea, now empty, and moves away to the front of the ship, disappearing behind a thick curtain that Jimin knows leads to the cockpit. 

Jimin takes to the suggestion with gusto, dragging the protective goggles from the top of his head where they almost always sit when not in use, before unbuttoning and slipping out of the top of his coveralls. He ties the sleeves of the top around his waist, letting the rest of the unused green fabric bunch around his waist, and flexes his now-bare arms over his head. 

Taehyung returns to find his younger friend sprawled out across the couch, bare feet curling and uncurling against the velvet cushions. He laughs openly at the sight, and Jimin tilts his head back to answer him with a grin. 

“When I said make yourself comfortable, I’m not sure this is what I meant…”

“Jus’ don’t tell any of your clients that I put my feet on the pillows, and they won’t know any different!”    
  


“Oh, sit up, will you?” Taehyung slaps at his friend’s shoulder, pushing until Jimin sits up and turns away from him. Taehyung slides down onto the cushion behind him, knees braced on either side of his hips, and smoothes his hands down through Jimin’s orange hair. His fingers wander down further, over the smooth side of Jimin’s neck and down across his shoulders. 

“What’s this?” He asks, plucking at the straps of the shirt that Jimin has on, one that had been hidden under the bulk of his coveralls. It’s a lacy thing, a pretty shade of blush pink and nearly completely see-through along his chest and back.  _ “Very _ pretty, _xiǎodì,”_ Taehyung teases.  _ Little one. _ “Who’re you tryin’ to impress, hm?”

Jimin shrugs, blushing. 

“Not that handsome doctor that you picked up on Persephone…?” Taehyung continues, and Jimin scoffs. 

“Nothin’ like that, don’t be silly.” 

“Hmm.” Taehyung doesn’t say anything more, but Jimin can feel the weight of the Companion’s attention on him, his contemplation. Still, Jimin relaxes back into Taehyung’s hands, the gentle sweep of his long fingers through Jimin’s hair. 

Once the companion has combed through any knots, he begins twisting at the hair from Jimin’s hairline back towards the crown of his head, plaiting any stray strands away from the mechanic’s face. 

“Tell me about your travels, TaeTae…” Jimin sighs happily, leaning back further. 

“What do you want to know?”

“Where did you go this time?”

“Bellerophon. It’s a fanciful place, to be sure. Full of dancing and music…” Taehyung sighs wistfully. “Art. Lovely art. Some of the finest I’ve ever seen.”

“Did you have a chance to see the museum?” Jimin asks, curious. Taehyung has always loved art, as long as he has known the man. 

“Mhm, I insisted.” Taehyung is as cheeky as ever. “I wouldn’t take the offers I received without it.”

“So...did any of your clients fall  _ madly _ in love with you this time? Offer to sweep you off to a life of luxury and take you away from this rugged life?” 

“Only the one,” Taehyung sighs in mock disappointment, “I must be losing my touch.”

_ “Never,” _ Jimin tosses a pointed look over his shoulder, and Taehyung gives him a wink. “You’re as lovely as ever, my dear, I don’t know how you do it!” 

“Can’t give away my secrets,” the Companion drawls. “Just let me make you pretty, _xiǎodì_, and you’ll know a few of them…” 

“Ha…’m never gonna find me a _bichnaneun sinsa_ like that…” He says.  _ A shiny gentleman.  _ His tone is wistful, but the way his heart twinges is real.

Taehyung gives him a reproachful swat to the shoulder. “Don’t say things like that, _dìdì_...pretty little thing like you? You’ll have some tall dark and handsome stranger eating out of your hands in no time.”

Jimin just rolls his eyes at that. 

“Anyway, I’m all done here. You know, with your face clean and your hair done up more often, you might have a better chance…”

“I’ll consider it,” Jimin says, sticking his tongue out playfully at the other man. 

With his hair finished, he is content to slide down the couch and rest his head in Taehyung’s lap. Taehyung immediately brings his thumbs down to rub at Jimin’s temples. “Say...TaeTae…”

“Hm?”

“Have you ever had to service, like, a really terrible,  _ disgusting _ client?” 

Taehyung lets out a bark of laughter at that, his smile turning natural, square. “No! No, of course not. Companions choose their own clients, that’s Guild law.” Taehyung pauses, thoughtfully, and Jimin opens his eyes to stare up at his friend’s beautiful face. What a life the man must lead, he thinks...setting off on so many adventures. 

“Besides,” Taehyung continues, “Physical appearance doesn’t matter so terribly. You look for compatibility of spirit. There's an energy about a person that's difficult to hide. You try to feel that—”

A thud of boots on the stairs leading up to the shuttle cuts them off, drawing both of their attention. 

“And then you try to feel the energy of their credit account. It has a sort of  _ aura…” _ Yoongi drawls dramatically as he steps over the threshold, holding his hand out in front of him as if weighing someone’s wallet inside of it. 

He stops short and his eyes widen as he sees the way Jimin is laid out on the couch, though he’s tactful enough not to mention it. 

“Who gave you permission to come into my shuttle?” Taehyung asks, rising smoothly from the couch to glare at his brother, arms crossing over his chest. 

“It’s  _ my _ shuttle,” Yoongi corrects immediately, matching his brother’s stance exactly. “You just rent it from me when you see fit.” He sniffs, looking down at the floor as if fascinated by it. “How long’s  _ this _ trip goin’ to be, you reckon? Y’ didn’t exactly send us your plans before jus’ showin’ up.” 

It’s the same question that Jimin had asked him a few days before, and they haven’t spoken of it since, Jimin not wanting to sour the excitement of having Taehyung around once more. He sits up on the couch, looking at both of the older men with interest. 

“That depends on how long the captain’s hospitality lasts,” Taehyung answers—the same answer he gave Jimin as well. “And this may be  _ your _ shuttle, but my lease is still in good standing. Which means you can barge into  _ my _ shuttle unannounced when I’m  _ behind on the rent.” _

They barely act like siblings, Jimin thinks. It’s gorramn  _ heartbreaking.  _

“Hey, I can do—”

“Stop it,  _ please.” _ Jimin hates that this is the second time in a week that he’s had to interrupt them, but he jumps off the couch and steps between them all the same. “Please, just stop.” He places a hand on Taehyung’s arm, gently directing his friend back to the couch. 

“What do you need, captain?” He asks, not looking over at Yoongi. 

Yoongi scowls. “Wanted to know where my _ mechanic’s _ gone, haven’t seen y’ in three sunsets—”

“Haven’t given me much reason to show my face,” Jimin pouts, crossing his own arms over his chest to mirror the captain’s pose. 

“What? I didn’t do anythin’ to—” Jimin cuts him off with a sharp look. 

“I—” Yoongi tries again, and Jimin’s expression only becomes more judgmental. “Okay, okay!” He raises his arms in surrender. “I’ve been a right  _ pi gu,  _ is that what you want me to say?”  _ I’ve been a right ass.  _

“Maybe…” Jimin toys with one of the curtains dangling between Taehyung’s bedroom and the sitting area. He hears the companion take a long, conspicuous sip of tea behind him, and can only imagine the judgmental look on the man’s face. 

“Well—I—I have, okay. I know I have.” Yoongi pauses, and Jimin knows that he’s waiting for Jimin to say something, to immediately forgive him. When he doesn’t immediately answer, Yoongi sighs. “I’m sorry, Minnie. I’m sorry.” 

“For what?” 

“For…” Yoongi raises a hand, scrubs it through his light hair. “For being rude.”

“And?”

“For ruining dinner.”

“Aaaaand?”

Yoongi hangs his head. “And for making everyone all upset.” 

Jimin purses his lips, but steps out from the wall and reaches out to take Yoongi’s hand. “I forgive you, Captain,” he says, magnanimously, “Even though you haven’t been actin’ very captain-like lately.” Yoongi makes a huff. “You haven’t! Makin’ our guests all uncomfortable, makin’ me feel bad…”

Yoongi tugs on the hand that Jimin is holding and pulls him into an embrace, pressing a soft kiss into the mechanic’s hair. “I really am sorry, _dìdì._ I’ve been a _húndàn,_ haven’t I?”  _ An asshole.  _

“Bit of one, yeah,” Jimin mumbles into the captain’s shirt. Yoongi has foregone his typical leather duster, opting instead for a collared white shirt held down by a pair of suspenders. It makes him look particularly rugged, which Jimin secretly enjoys, and the captain’s chest is especially warm. Comforting. 

“Forgive me?” Yoongi asks again, softly.

“Suppose so.” Jimin gives him a fond smile as he pulls away. “But I’m not the one you should really be apologizing to.” His tone is heavy, particularly laden with meaning, and Yoongi doesn’t need to see him give a side eye to his brother to know what the pilot is trying to say. 

“Right.” 

Jimin gives him a pat on the arm before moving away. “I assume this means I have’ta get back to work, though?”

“Ahem,” Yoongi clears his throat, puffing out his chest. “Right! Back to work!” He swats at Jimin’s backside, and the mechanic giggles as he trounces towards the door. 

“Aye aye, cap’n!” 

“And no more playin’ dress up for at least two days, you hear me?” Yoongi yells after the younger man. Jimin sticks his tongue out at him, just as he had done to Taehyung before, and he knows that the captain knows that all is forgiven. 

Two steps and he’s out the door, cleanly out of sight of the two brothers standing inside. One step to the side, and he’s able to tuck his body behind the door frame so that he can still listen in. 

There’s silence for a few tense moments—Jimin can practically  _ feel _ it from where he stands. But then there’s a rustle of movement, a few footsteps, and what sounds like a slap that echoes down the hallway. Jimin covers his mouth to muffle his immediate gasp. 

“Hey!” Yoongi cries out, a warble in his voice. “What was that for?!” 

“You know  _ exactly _ what that was for,” Taehyung answers, his voice icy. 

Yoongi is silent for another beat, and then there’s another sudden rush of motion, followed by a sigh. It takes Jimin a moment to piece together that what he’s hearing is the sound of an embrace. He strains his ears, leaning forward, and just barely manages to catch it when Yoongi murmurs, “...missed you, _mèimei.” _ _ Little sister.  _

“Don’t call me that,” Taehyung answers, though his voice doesn’t carry any acid to it. “You don’t get to call me that anymore.” 

“Come on, Tae...just say you missed me too.” Yoongi’s voice is gruff, almost  _ emotional. _ Jimin can’t believe it. 

“I missed you too…” Taehyung concedes after another pause, followed by a scuffle, as though he had pushed the captain away. “But that doesn’t change anything. You’re still a _húndàn_, just like you said to Jimin.” 

“I know,” Yoongi agrees easily. Jimin bites at his lip.

“And I don’t want you on my shuttle, either. That much was true as well.”

“I know that too.” The heavy sound of Yoongi’s footsteps moves towards the door, and Jimin hurries down the stairs out of the way, but not before catching the last exchange between the two men. “I’m on my way out.”

“Yoongi—” Taehyung calls, and the footsteps stop. “He deserves better than how you’ve been treating him. They all do.” 

“You keep repeating things I’m well aware of,  _ Taehyung, _ ” Yoongi bites back.

“Then you know that he’s not the one you should really be apologizing to.”

“That I do,” the captain says shortly, then passes through the doorway. Jimin immediately flings himself down the stairs, out of sight, back in the engine room before either of them are any the wiser. 

  


· ✹ •.· + ˚ ✧ . · +. ·. ✦ ˚ · . ✹ . ✧

Yoongi has never liked going down to the passenger dorm—everything is tinted a sort of sickly yellow, an unsettling color after passing by the infirmary on the way, to be sure. It’s even more unsettling when he thinks about how the rooms are situated towards the aft of the ship, built right beneath the Firefly drive and the engine that keeps the whole ship going. The dorms seem to reflect the eerie glow of the engine from the outside, the yellow tint that bellows out into space behind them and gives their Firefly ship its name. 

He dislikes coming to this part of the ship so much that he only uses it for non-essential storage, things he will only have to retrieve infrequently—or order someone else to retrieve, more like. So it’s particularly unusual that he would be willingly making his way this far to the rear of this ship of his own volition without something he needs, but...here he is. 

He dislikes who he’s come to see even more, but his dislike of the huffy looks and eyerolls and turned backs of his crew outweighs them all. Some sacrifices just have to be made, he thinks—going to the back of the ship is one of them. Swallowing his pride is another. 

It occurs to the captain as soon as he arrives, looking out at the two hallways facing him on either side, the eight dorms stacked atop each other in each wing, that he has no idea which room each of their guests has taken. 

  
  


He’s never made it his business to pay much attention to the comings and goings of their passengers, seeing them as a means to an end and nothing more. But now this leaves him with a tiny problem, one that he has to solve by going door to door through the dorm until he finds the right room. 

“Um...hello?” He would call out the passenger’s name—the one he has come looking for—but truth be told, he has completely forgotten it. Or, if he thinks back—maybe he was never told it in the first place? Hard to remember. All he knows is that the man is a doctor, a  _ rich _ boy, and he was angry enough to remember the man’s face—angry enough to want to punch the  _ pretty _ right off of it. 

There’s a soft, muffled sound behind one of the doors to his right that he follows after instinctively, head tilted to the side as he follows his ear towards the end of the hall where one of the doors to a bottom-level dorm is tightly closed. 

“Hello?” He repeats, knocking gently on the synth-glass door that imitates a sliding paper screen, blocking his view of the room beyond. He hears that same sound in response—not quite a voice, but the shadow of one, like whimper that never quite makes it out of someone’s mouth. 

He reaches down for the holster strapped to his hip, fingers curling around the handle of his pistol on immediate instinct. That sound sends goosebumps up the back of his neck. 

“I’m comin’ in—” He warns, then slides the door open with a snap. 

The room beyond is neat, tidy, though he certainly didn’t expect anything else from the doctor, not with the way that he dresses. Luggage is properly stacked in the corner, the bed is crisply made—it almost looks as though it hasn’t even been slept in. There’s a plate of food on the floor by his feet, and Yoongi recognizes it as what they all had for breakfast. It’s completely untouched, just like the bed. 

Even more suspicious now, he steps inside, hand still on his holster, and peers around the doorframe to scour the room for any signs of the doctor—and the source of that  _ sound. _ He  _ expected  _ to find the doctor reading a book, or—reviewing a medical chart, or— _ whatever _ the hell it is that doctors do when they’re not working. 

What the captain absolutely  _ didn’t _ expect is to take a few paces into the room, walk past the neatly made bed, and catch sight of a dark figure huddled against the wall on the other side of the room out of the corner of his eye.

“What are you—”

The doctor is sitting on the floor—or, not  _ sitting, _ exactly. Crouching. Curled up on himself, arms wrapped tightly around his knees. His head is tucked down between his legs, his shoulders shaking—

Yoongi’s hand immediately drops off of his weapon. 

“Woah.” 

He steps forward before he even realizes that he’s moved, close enough that he can see the slight quiver to the man’s shoulders.

“Hey—Hey, Doc. Doc, what’s going on—?” His tone softens as he kneels down on the floor, immediately reaching out a hand to rest on the man’s elbow. The doctor lurches immediately at the touch, his head flying back so that his eyes meet Yoongi’s own—red and shining, his cheeks puffy from previously shed tears. 

He doesn’t say anything for a long, tense moment, eyes wide and startled, and Yoongi watches as a slew of emotions crosses the man’s face. Without being in the throws of anger at the man, Yoongi can appreciate at this distance the sharp curve of his jaw, the heart-shaped curve of his lips—though his cheeks are 

“Captain.” 

The doctor’s voice is hushed, distant but curt. He blinks his eyes rapidly as he stares up at Yoongi, as if he’s having a hard time focusing on the man right in front of him. 

“Doctor,” Yoongi answers, just as curtly, feeling his face screw up into an inevitable expression of confusion. “You wanna...tell me what’s going on here?” 

The doctor raises a quivering hand, strokes his long fingers across his face to brush away his tears, but the action appears...disconnected to Yoongi, as though it’s happening without the doctor’s knowledge or permission. 

“N—Nothing…” The man murmurs, but his reply doesn’t match the look on his face  _ at all. _

“Hey, Doc—Doc! You gotta focus for me, okay? 

This close, he can not only see the doctor’s face in startling clarity—the dilated darkness of his pupils, the way his nostril’s flare, the bitten edges of his lips—he can hear the other man’s  _ breathing _ as well, and it only takes a quick listen to realize what he’s dealing with. 

  


· ✹ •.· + ˚ ✧ . · +. ·. ✦ ˚ · . ✹ . ✧

  
  


** _Six Years Earlier… _ **

  
  
  


_ The valley is hot, even at night. The air is muggy, sticking his uniform to his chest as he dodges between two large boulders, one bearing the unmistakable scorch marks of artillery fire.  _

_ All around him, there are bodies moving back and forth, soldiers in familiar brown and red uniforms darting to-and-fro between cover just as he is. There is shouting from every side, though all of it is indistinguishable in the din of engines roaring overhead, gunfire in the distance, the ringing in his ears… _

_ There’s a sharp whistling noise over his shoulder, and without pausing to consider it, he dives down into the dirt, rifle crushed between his chest and the rock below. An explosion above his head rocks the ground beneath him, but he doesn’t have time to flinch—just clambers right back to his feet, shoulders hunched, and scrambles for cover once again.  _

_ His breath is labored, wheezing in and out of his chest as he darts between a large boulder and a thatch of trees, tumbling face-first into a foxhole that has been dug just a few feet behind their small trunks for some semblance of camouflage.  _

_ Within seconds of scrambling to his feet, another soldier looks up at him from the radio he has clutched to his own chest, barking out updates to him almost faster than he can follow them.  _

_ “Sergeant! Command says air support is holding till they can assess our status—” _

_ “Our status is that we need some gorram air support!” He stumbles forward, swinging his gun from his shoulder to work on reloading it as fast as he can with his grimy, shaking fingers. “Now you get back on line and tell ‘em to get in here!”  _

_ Another body bumps against him, a hand clapping down on his shoulder. He looks up to find a familiar pair of dimples curling around the mouth that speaks to him. “That skiff is  _ shredding _ us, sir.”  _

_ Namjoon.  _

_ He casts his eyes up to the sky where the skiff in question is hovering just out of sight, raining down fire on them like a reckoning from god.  _

_ “I know—” _

_ “They won’t move without a lieutenant's authorization code, sir!” The radio operator cuts across their conversation, drawing both of their attention.  _

_ He scowls, storming over to the man that is giving him  _ nothing _ but bad news, Namjoon dogging his heels nervously the entire way.  _

_ “Yoongi—sir—” The corporal tries to call after him, but he ignores Namjoon completely, storms past the radio operator, and bends over the body that is lying prone at his side. The body itself belongs to—or, belonged to—their former lieutenant, though now he isn’t doing anyone much good, lying there all corpsified and whatnot. Namjoon makes a noise beside him as he reaches for the man’s chest, grabs at the bloodied material, and rips the badge right off the front of his shirt.  _

_ “Here.” He thrusts the badge into the hands of the radio operator, “Here’s your code. You’re Lieutenant Lee now—congratulations on your promotion.” He then stomps over to the edge of the foxhole, back hunched as he settles his rifle against the dirt and takes aim. “Now get me some air support!”  _

_ Yoongi turns his head to find Namjoon right at his side, as always. “Pull back, just enough to wedge ‘em in here. Get your squad to high ground, start pickin’ ‘em off.” _

_ Namjoon looks apprehensive through the dirt coating his cheeks. “High ground is death with that skiff still in the air—” _

_ “That’s our problem,” Yoongi tells him with mock enthusiasm. “Thanks for volunteering!”  _

_ The corporal very  _ pointedly _ rolls his eyes at Yoongi, but follows the order immediately all the same, just as Yoongi knew that he would. As Namjoon gestures for a few of the other soldiers in the hole to follow him and scrambles inelegantly over the top of the foxhole on the opposite side, Yoongi bends down to address another member of his squad—a man squatting at his feet with his rifle clutched in both hands like a lifeline, his eyes focused a million miles away.  _

_ “Choi, give us some cover fire! We’re going duck hunting.” Before Choi can respond, their hiding place is rocked by another huge explosion, this one much closer than before. He counts one-two-three- _ four _ beats before another explosion follows—drawing closer, then. Coming, not going. Like a thunderstorm.  _

_ He looks around at the men left in the hole with him, all of their faces round, young—terrified. Well. Time for a morale boost.  _

_ “Just focus!” He tells them, drawing all eyes to him. “The Alliance said that they were gonna  _ waltz _ through Serenity Valley,” he says, gesturing to the desert landscape around them as if they don’t know exactly where they are—and for some of them, that’s very likely. _

_ “And we choked ‘em with those words.” _

_ He points with one finger toward each soldier in kind, looking them dead in the eyes as he speaks. “We’ve done the impossible—and that makes us  _ mighty.”

_ Yoongi’s not usually one for dramatic speeches and poetic gestures, but it comes to him easily enough when he  _ means _ it.  _

_ “Just a little while longer, our angels are gonna be soarin’ overhead, rainin’ fire on those arrogant cod—” He clenches his fist, all eyes staring at him in rapt attention now. Some of them are a whole head taller than him, despite their young age, but he has  _ fire _ coursing through him now. “So you hold!”  _

_ His voice raises, and the soldiers before him seem to all jump to attention at once. “You hold!” Yoongi brandishes his rifle. “Go!”  _

_ Immediately, the soldiers scramble into action, taking up position one beside the other along the edge of the foxhole. He can hear the moment they begin to lay down cover fire, giving him a slim shot to clamber up out of the trench on the other side. He throws himself up the embankment, grasping at the hand that is offered to him, and finds himself being tugged to his feet by Namjoon on the other side.  _

_ “Really think we can bring her down, sir?” The corporal asks, referring to the ship flying above them still.  _

_ “Do you even need to ask?” He answers, his confidence half manufactured and half adrenaline at this point. He reaches down beneath the collar of his shirt, drags a necklace up to his lips, and lays an enthusiastic kiss against the cross that hangs there.  _ God will see us through, _ he thinks, and he  _ believes _ it.  _

_ “Ready?” He shouts once he knows his prayer has been sent skyward.  _

_ “Always,” Namjoon answers immediately.  _

_ Without another word, Yoongi takes off up the hill, boots sliding in the sand as he moves.  _

_ “Choi? Choi! Get your ass up, we need to  _ cover _ him!” Behind him, he hears Namjoon’s voice shouting, but it isn’t at  _ him,  _ so he doesn’t pay it any attention. Over his shoulder, another pair of footsteps suddenly starts to pick up after him, followed by the sound of swearing and rapid gunfire.  _

_ A look tossed over his shoulder shows him the corporal diving behind a set of boulders, gun aimed down at their enemy below. Yoongi grins wildly and swings his gun forward, firing off his own rounds blindly into the bushes in front of him.  _

_ Immediately, an enemy soldier, dressed head-to-toe in black and silver, steps out from behind his  _ own _ cover to return fire. One second to aim, one pull of the trigger—and the foreign soldier falls dead like a sack of potatoes, leaving the large, ground-mounted gun behind him without a guard.  _

_ He swings his rifle over his shoulder and sprints for the gun—more like a  _ cannon _ , he thinks, as he clambers up the base of it and drags himself into the seat. At his six, Namjoon continues firing off shots into the distance, drawing attention away from him as Yoongi activates the cannon’s targeting system. It’s a bit unwieldy, dragging the large weapon around by only a joystick, but it only takes a few swings back and forth for the system to figure out what he’s attempting to target—and lock onto the skiff of its own accord.  _

_ Geniuses, the lot of them, Yoongi thinks. Don’t even know not to make their technology work on themselves. _

_ He doesn’t bother taking careful aim—there’s no time, no  _ time _ —just points the gun in the right direction and lets the computer do the rest of the work, pulling the trigger without hesitation. His body is immediately thrown back by the force of the cannon fire, and he watches, dazed, as a very large round of explosives is hurtled into the air, disappearing over the edge of the rocks into the distance.  _

_ For a moment, there is only silence. Then,  _ much _ too close for comfort, a thundering boom, the horrible crunch of metal against metal. A direct hit.  _

_ He clambers back down to the ground with his arms thrown high in the air in celebration.  _ “Yeah!” _ He grunts, exhilarated.  _

_ But as his eyes train on the horizon, searching for the results of his success, he finds himself staring down the barrel of a rather large inferno—the skiff, now engulfed in flames, careening towards the earth  _ right towards them. 

_ “—Namjoon!”  _

_ He takes off running, turning his back to the oncoming ship in favor of training his eyes on the corporal—throwing his body atop the larger man where he stands, turning towards the sound of Yoongi’s voice calling for him. They hit the ground flat on their backs, and the skiff skims right over their heads, whistling in their ears as it plummets and— _

  
  


** _BOOM!_ **

  
  


_ —makes impact into the rocks over the ledge above their heads.  _

_ Debris begins raining down all around them almost immediately. Yoongi is startled into laughter, hysterical and full-bodied.  _

_ Namjoon looks long-suffering as he drags the sergeant to his feet and pulls him down the hill by his sleeve, like a dog minding a misbehaving child.  _

_ They slide together down the edge of the foxhole they had exited earlier, landing in a pile of limbs and smiles. Namjoon gives him a good-natured slap to the back as he gets himself to his feet and dusts himself off.  _

_Yoongi watches as the corporal then marches over to the man they had left behind, still crouching uselessly at the edge of the foxhole, gun curled up in his hands, bullets unfired. “Nice_ _gorram _cover fire,_ Choi,” he says as he slaps the dazed young man across the back of his head. _

_ “Did you see that?” Yoongi cries out to the other soldiers, turning on his heel. “Tham, what’s our status on—” _

_ He cuts himself off immediately as his eyes land on the radio operator—also where they left him, though now lying against the carved out dirt wall of the foxhole, blank-eyed and considerably more bloody than before.  _

_ “Namjoon.”  _

_ The corporal looks up, and Yoongi tilts his head towards Tham. Getting the message, Namjoon moves across the dirt with his tall frame hunched low to check over the fallen soldier. Not wanting to know the result—or perhaps, already sure of it—Yoongi switches places with him, settling down into the dirt beside Choi instead.  _

_ The soldier doesn’t turn to look at him—doesn’t seem to be looking at much of  _ anything, _ his eyes dark and unfocused on the dirt in the distance. His hands shake violently around the gun slung across his chest, though the rest of him is eerily still. He’s covered in blood, staining the brown of his uniform coat a darker shade, though none of it seems to be his own. Still, with the way he sits, hunched over himself to make his body as small as possible, barely moving a muscle, Yoongi wouldn’t be able to tell if he were among the living or the dead if he wasn’t paying very close attention.  _

_ “Hey,” he says, trying to draw the young man’s focus to him, “Listen to me. Choi,  _ look at me!”  _ The man turns his head at the order, as though his body only remembers to do so if it’s phrased as a command. “Listen—we’re holding this valley no matter what.” _

_ “We’re gonna die,” Choi croaks back, and his eyes still won’t focus on Yoongi’s face.  _

_ “We’re  _ not _ gonna die,” Yoongi argues back immediately, and his chest seems to swell with his own confidence at the words. “We can’t die, Choi. You know why?”  _

_ When he doesn’t receive an answer—not that he was expecting one—he chuckles to himself, and pats the cross where he can feel it against his chest through the fabric of his shirt.  _

_ “Because we are so very pretty.” Choi says nothing. “We are just  _ too pretty  _ for god to let us die. Huh?” He reaches out and pats the edge of Choi’s rounded face, slapping his cheek where he still hasn’t lost his baby fat. Children, he thinks. They’re all children playing at war. “Look at that chiseled jaw!” He says, instead. “Yeah? We’re too damn pretty. C’mon.”  _

_ Overhead, a roaring sound starts to crackle in their ears, and Yoongi throws his head back in glee.  _ Finally _ . Their air support has arrived.  _ God is good. _ _

_ “If you won’t listen to me, listen to  _ that,”  _ he tells Choi, slapping the young man on the shoulder. “Those are our angels comin’ to blow the Alliance to the hot place.”  _

_ He turns to Namjoon, a grin plastered across his face. “Tell the 82nd—” _

_ “They’re not comin’.” Namjoon cuts him off with a soft voice, looking stunned as he holds the radio to his ear. “They’re pullin’ out.” _

_ Yoongi feels the smile slip right off his face. “We’re to...lay down arms.” _

_ Yoongi feels as stunned as Namjoon looks—as though he has been struck over the head with his own rifle. His fingers feel numb at the tips, the ringing returning to his ears. He looks back at Choi, taking in the man’s blank face.  _

_ “But...what’s…” He can’t comprehend this, can’t even  _ begin _ to. He can hear them overhead, the roar of their engines—his angels come to deliver them.  _

_ Slowly, mechanically, as though being moved like a puppet on a string, he rises to his feet—no longer concerned with the bullets that are still whizzing by overhead. He peers out over the top of the foxhole, eyes locking onto lights in the distance.  _

_ He can see it clearly now, the green glow of engines rumbling to life, ship after ship rising into the air miles away in the heart of the valley down below.  _ Their _ ships. Their air support. Retreating.  _

_ Their last hope floats up to the sky, disappearing into the black, blending in with the stars above. Beside him, Choi finall _ y  _ rises to his feet as well, staring up into the sky where Yoongi is already looking.  _

_ Behind them, Namjoon is shouting something into the radio, but to Yoongi, they are just words. Meaningless words. Choi falls into his side, and Yoongi’s arms immediately catch the man around the waist. The man’s breath comes as nothing more than a shuddering gasp in his ear, inhales without much of an exhale, as though his lungs have forgotten how to hold air.  _

_ If what Choi was experiencing before was shock,  _ this _ is fear. Pure, unadulterated _ fear. 

_ Yoongi lets himself be dragged back to the ground by the man’s dead weight, holding him close like a lifeline. Together, they kneel in the dirt, not moving, not doing much of anything—except waiting. Bodies waiting to die.  _

_ Minutes, or maybe hours later, lights shine down from above, dozens of lights zero in on their faces. Angels, Yoongi thinks—then corrects himself. No. Men. Soldiers. Soldiers come to take them captive.  _

_ Their bodies are pried apart, Choi’s eyes never leaving his as his arms are dragged back behind his back, rifle falling into the dirt between them.  _

They say there are no atheists in foxholes, _ Yoongi thinks to himself, numb. Against his chest, the cool metal of his cross seems to burn at his skin.  _ But here I am. 

God has forgotten us in this corner of the ‘verse. 

  
  
  
  
  


· ✹ •.· + ˚ ✧ . · +. ·. ✦ ˚ · . ✹ . ✧

** _Now_ **

  
  


Wheezing—that same wheezing is what brings him back to himself, back to the present moment, to the man absorbed in complete panic that looks too familiar to him for comfort. His mind launches immediately into action, filtering through all of his knowledge, all of his experience, to best help this man—this  _ stranger. _

“Doc,  _ Doc, _ listen to me,” Yoongi says, settling down onto his knees completely in front of the quivering man—and despite his reservations, he reaches out to place his hands on either side of the doctor’s face. “Can you look at me?” 

The doctor struggles, his eyelashes fluttering, as he listens to the commanding voice that Yoongi instinctively falls into. His eyes flit back and forth, as if he can’t quite settle, can’t quite choose a spot on Yoongi’s face to fixate on properly. The captain frowns, raising one of his hands to poke at his own face, right between his eyes on the bridge of his own nose. “Right here, doc. Look at me right here.” 

The other man scrunches his eyes closed, taking a sharp breath through his nose, then forces them open to look up at Yoongi again. This time, his eyes flicker back and forth rapidly, but it’s clear that he’s at least focused on  _ Yoongi’s _ eyes, and that’s enough. 

_ Grounding.  _ His field training kicks in immediately—it may have been years, but there are some things you just don’t forget.  _ Start with grounding.  _

“Put your hands on my wrists, Doc,” he orders, not unkindly. “Can you do that?” 

The doctor blinks, takes another shuddering breath, and he feels the slightest of nods beneath his hands. Slowly but surely, the man’s fingers unclench from his own thighs, hands fumbling up to slide along Yoongi’s forearms until his fingers rest against the bare skin below the cuffs of the captain’s jacket. His touch is so  _ warm, _ Yoongi can’t help but notice—especially in the chill that always seems to cling to the bottom floor of the ship. 

“Good,” Yoongi murmurs in response. He flexes his fingers against the sides of the doctor’s face, and feels the man’s fingers tighten around his wrists instinctively. “Good, that’s good...okay…” A deep breath. “Can you feel my heartbeat?” 

This question seems to startle the younger man—or, at the very least, confuse him. There’s a funny little flicker to the doctor’s brow as he clearly tries to process Yoongi’s question, quivering fingers tightening around his wrists again. 

Eventually, he’s given another nod, and a soft response in a low, shaky voice. “Y—Yes…”

“Okay, I want you to focus on that, focus on my heartbeat. Can you do that for me, Doc? Try counting how many beats you feel, give it a shot—”

· ✹ •.· + ˚ ✧ . · +. ·. ✦ ˚ · . ✹ . ✧

** _Then…_ **

  
  
  
There is gunfire overhead, cracking close enough to 

_ “Count them for me, that’s it—one, two—one, two—” His hands are pressed to a chest, firm and strong. There is something between them, firm and scratchy. He can feel a heartbeat thrumming heavily beneath his fingers, kicking fast like a rabbit.  _

_ One, two—one, two—one— _

_ “Just stay grounded, soldier. Jus’ like that, stay with me now, we need you out there—” _

· ✹ •.· + ˚ ✧ . · +. ·. ✦ ˚ · . ✹ . ✧

  
  
** _Now_ **

  
  


_ Grounding, _ right—grounding. Need to stay grounded. His head feels a little foggy at the edges, his memory threatening to overtake him again. He focuses his attention down to the tips of his fingers, the warm skin beneath his. Takes a deep breath. Closes his eyes and counts the beats of his  _ own _ heart, just as he instructed the doctor to do. 

_ Thump, _ thump— _ thump,  _ thump— _ thump, _ thump—

One, two—three, four—five, six—seven, eight—

When he opens his eyes, he catches sight of the lips in front of him doing the same thing, forming the shape of what looks like numbers as the doctor’s thumbs press insistently into his pulse. 

The floor beneath his feet is firm, present. It feels solid, and it helps remind him where he is. He can’t let the other man’s panic drag him down, drag him  _ back _ —

“That’s it…” he murmurs, when he can find his voice again. The doctor’s breathing is still heavy, labored, but he doesn’t seem to be shaking nearly as badly as before. Good, he’s coming back to himself. Back to the present moment. This is what Yoongi focuses on. 

“Perfect, just like that,” he encourages, slowly sliding his hands away from the doctor’s face—very slowly, so as to not disturb the panicked man. He turns his hands over in the man’s grip, gently bringing the doctor’s hands down to his own chest instead. 

It takes all that he has not to give into the memory clinging at the edge of his mind, a memory of someone doing the same to  _ him _ —but he has to stay  _ present.  _ Has to  _ help. _

“O-Okay,” he mutters, trying to will the quiver out of his voice. “Now...try to focus on my breathing instead. Can you feel my heartbeat still?” He presses the doctor’s hands more firmly against his ribs, just below where his heart is thrumming heavily. He can feel it in his own throat, has to swallow. The man gives him another quick nod, his eyes still closed. “Alright, that’s good, you don’t let go of that, okay? Just be right here with me,  _ right here.”  _ Another nod. “Now feel the way I’m breathing, yeah? In and out—you feel it?” 

“Y-Yes…” 

“I want you to follow along with me now, you hear me? Follow my breathing, try to match it with your own—”

Immediately, the man sucks in a sharp breath, as though drawing his attention to that  _ particular  _ bodily function, back to his  _ own _ body, has suddenly caused his lungs to spasm.

“I—I can’t—I  _ can’t _ —” the man gasps, and Yoongi hurries to rub his hands down the doctor’s arms over his shirtsleeves, trying to bring him back to the present moment again. 

“Yes you can, you  _ can, _ ” he insists, his voice growing more firm with each word. “Just stay right here, right here—” He taps on the man’s arms to punctuate his point. “Focus on my breathing, come on. In and out, just like me. You can do it.” 

The doctor’s face screws up in concentration, fingers twisting into the front of Yoongi’s shirt. Still, the effort is there, the man snapping his mouth shut and sucking in a deep breath through his nose, holding it for a few moments, before releasing it again in one long sigh. He does it again, and then again—not quite matching Yoongi’s, but growing slower and more assured with each attempt. 

“That’s it, just keep breathing.” He takes a few deep, purposeful breaths to guide the other man, watching as his heart-shaped lips twitch, his eyebrows furled as he begins to follow along. 

Several minutes later, Yoongi has run out of assurances—but he no longer needs them. The nervous hunch of the doctor’s shoulders has melted away, his fingers gripping Yoongi’s shirt firmly, but not  _ desperately.  _ The curve of the doctor’s brows have smoothed back to normal, and his breathing is heavy but well within the normal pace that Yoongi has set. 

He feels the fingers on his chest gentle release themselves, and looks up to find himself looking into the doctor’s eyes again—this time, their dark depths softer, lines smoothed out around the edges. 

Suddenly feeling very awkward, Yoongi coughs and pulls his hands away from the man’s arms, sitting back on his heels to look down at the doctor now. 

“Feelin’ better?” He asks, voice a little gruff. He can’t quite look the doctor in the eyes any longer. 

“Yes, very much so…” The doctor murmurs, his own hands sliding away from Yoongi’s chest to run through his dark hair instead. He, too, looks away, and there’s a light flush to the tips of his ears that Yoongi catches out of the corner of his eye when the man turns his head. “Thank you.” 

It’s so soft that Yoongi almost doesn’t catch it. 

“You’re, uh...you’re welcome.” 

“How did you—” The man starts, then cuts himself off, seeming to think better of it. He scrubs a hand over his face, leaning his head back against the wall behind him. “How did you know? How to help me, I mean…”

Yoongi considers him carefully, looking at the taut line of the man’s neck stretched out in front of him, the red tracks of his tears staining his skin. The man sitting a foot from him is a far cry from the stiff, pretentious stranger that he had met at the kitchen table days ago—so much so that it’s hard to reconcile them in his mind altogether. He weighs his options, thinking over the consequences of being honest here with this man, curled up upon himself to make himself small. 

“Recognized the signs.” Yoongi shrugs. “I’ve seen it before.” 

“You were...you were a soldier, weren’t you?” The doctor asks, face turned towards the ceiling, and Yoongi startles. 

“How’d you know that?” 

It’s the doctor’s turn to look sheepish, grinning in a way that doesn’t quite look honest. “Recognized the signs,” he parrots back at the captain. “You’ve just got a  _ way _ about you.” 

Yoongi lets out a huff and leans back against the bed. “Do I now…” he murmurs, not quite a question. It’s not the first time he’s heard that, though it’s certainly the first time he’s heard it from a  _ core-worlder. _

“I’m not surprised, I mean…” The man continues, breath still a little strained at the edges, like he’s just trying to make conversation while the last of his attack passes. Fair enough, Yoongi thinks. “It would explain why you have such an issue with the Alliance, and all that.” 

“It surely would,” he agrees, though the words come out faster than he means them to, and more clipped. 

The doctor chuckles sardonically. “And—what was it you called me? An... _ inner-rim dandy?”  _

Yoongi feels a twinge of something in his chest, possibly guilt. “Somethin’ to that effect, yeah.”

“Well, it would explain that too.” He doesn’t seem terribly upset about it—not the way he did the other day, at least—so Yoongi lets it go without a response. 

They sit, then, in silence—in a strange form of camaraderie that requires no words. He watches as the doctor slowly comes down from his panic, hands spread on the ground beside him as though more contact with the ship will keep him tethered to the ground. 

Eventually, his legs slide out from his chest until they sprawl on the floor between him and the captain and he lets out a long breath. Yoongi stares at him curiously. 

“Well...thank you. Again. For helping me.” 

Yoongi nods. 

“Though I don’t know why you did,” he continues as he slowly clambers to his feet, sliding up along the wall. Yoongi follows after him, rising with more grace—but only just. “After our first meeting...I didn’t think  _ you _ of all people on this boat would show up at my door.”

“Yeah, well...I…” Yoongi rubs at the back of his neck as he steps away, putting some distance between them now. “That wasn’t my—I had a diff’rent reason.” 

It’s like watching the man slide out of his panic like a coat, the way the doctor stands up straighter by the moment, brushing the wrinkles out of his shirt, squaring his shoulders. Now that he is upright, Yoongi can clearly see his finely tailored clothes, his pressed slacks and leather belt and shirt that is adorned in tiny, swirling embroidery that catches the light when he moves. It causes Yoongi’s chest to tighten, a knot forming in his throat—reminds him of everything about the man that set him off a few days prior. 

The  _ finery _ —even in the depths of space, having a panic attack in the ass end of Yoongi’s smuggling ship, this man has dressed head to toe in  _ finery. _

Yoongi turns away from the man completely, swallowing around the tightness. Aside from stirring the captain’s gut, it reminds him of his entire purpose in coming down this way in the first place. It reminds him of Jimin. He can hear the pilot’s voice in his ear, clearly whispering,  _ ‘I’m not the one you should be apologizing to.’  _

He can hear it when the doctor moves behind him, can also hear it in his voice when he speaks—the way his emotions have been buttoned up just like the shiny row that lines the front of his shirt. “Care to enlighten me?” 

It’s as though the past few minutes never happened. 

“I came to apologize,” Yoongi blurts out, before he can think better of it and storm out of the room again. “That’s all.”

“Apologize? Really.” The doctor doesn’t sound convinced. “I may have only known you for a matter of hours, captain, but that doesn’t sound like something you do terribly often.”

“It isn’t,” he agrees. “Unless there’s a compellin’ enough reason.” 

“And what would that be?” 

“Wasn’t right, the way I talked t’ you before. Like you said.” Yoongi can feel his fingers twitch at his sides. “It was…Well. You’re welcome on my ship, same as anyone. You’re a paying passenger and I should treat you like it.” 

“I...appreciate that.” There’s no malice in the man’s words, and when Yoongi turns to face him again, there is none in the doctor’s dark eyes either. “Thank you.” 

Yoongi nods, suddenly feeling terse again. Now that he’s looking this strange man in the face, it’s easy to tune out the periphery—the well-fitted clothes, his shiny shoes, even the absurdly neat part of his hair—and instead focus only on the  _ man _ himself. And without the finery in focus, he is just a man. A handsome man, with a kind face, and a redness around his eyes that no amount of shuttering his emotions can make disappear.

“Well...I’ve disturbed you long enough, I think,” Yoongi says as he kicks his boot against the metal floor. “I should be leavin’ you to your rest. Make sure you get some, after—well. Just make sure you get some.” 

“I will,” the doctor assures him in a softer voice and a nod of his head. 

“Right. Well.” Goddamn it. He turns on his heels again and takes the few steps needed to bring himself to the door, hand reaching up to slide it shut beneath him. “We’ll see you at dinner, shì?”  _ Yes?  _ “Food’s gone cold over there.” He points to the untouched tray sitting beside his feet. 

“In a bit, I—” The man shifts from foot to foot now, looking suddenly... _ nervous _ about something. His eyes flicker to the door over Yoongi’s shoulder as he answers, “I have some business to take care of first.” 

“Well...it’s none of mine,” Yoongi answers, antsy to get upstairs himself now that the thought of food is on his mind, “so I’ll leave you to it.” 

His good deed is done, he thinks as he turns his back to the room now, one foot over the threshold into the hallway beyond. That ought to get the rest of the crew off his damn back. 

Even as he thinks it, he feels that same twinge of— _ something _ —in the center of his chest.

“You know, Captain...you have quite the loyal crew here,” the doctor calls out to him, as though the thought just struck him, and Yoongi freezes. He doesn’t turn around again, determined not to, but his head still swivels back towards the sound all the same. 

“I know.”

“It’s admirable, that you would put your pride on the line to make them happy like this.” 

Yoongi says nothing, because what could he possibly say to that? Instead, he nods his head, clear and firm enough that he knows the other man can see it. 

“Have a good night, Captain,” the doctor bids him farewell. 

“Yoongi,” he corrects immediately. 

“What?” 

“You don’t have t’ call me ‘Captain’—only my crew does that. You can just...you can just call me Yoongi.” 

“Well then…” He can hear a faint smile in the other man’s voice once more. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you,  _ Yoongi. _ ” A pause, then, “You can call me Hoseok.”

“Hoseok.” Yoongi repeats the name back, feeling the shape of it in his mouth. He finally turns his head all the way, meeting Hoseok’s eyes again. He gives one last nod, this one loaded with meaning—with understanding—then turns away for good and slides the door closed behind him, just the way he found it. 

  
  
  


· ✹ •.· + ˚ ✧ . · +. ·. ✦ ˚ · . ✹ . ✧

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it for Episode 2, and a bit more information about why the hell Yoongi is _like that._ I hope you enjoyed! Look out for Jungkook in the next chapter...
> 
> If you're 18+, come cry with me over BTS on Twitter [here!](https://twitter.com/chimchimoanie)
> 
> Please send me motivation or questions on [CuriousCat](https://curiouscat.me/chimchimoanie)!


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